A Gathering of Heroes: Year 1
by MariSkep
Summary: A few minor changes snowball until the whole mountain comes down on top of England. Harry'll be there at the center of it, standing shoulder to shoulder with anyone else stupid enough to play at hero. He wouldn't have it any other way. UPDATE: Story is discontinued.
1. The Wife Who Stayed At Home

_Hello, all. This is my first Harry Potter fic and fourth attempt at writing one overall. I've changed the background of two characters (the first of which is Dudley who was born Camellia i this story) and ultimately I'll veer pretty far away from Rowling's vision of the wizarding world. In that sense you can consider this AU although you'll still recognize all the characters and abilities._

 _Updates will probably be monthly._

 _Two quick points. 1) I'm not a Brit so sorry if I get any of the local details wrong. 2) Characters will sometimes say things I'd try to punch them for so please don't take it as an endorsement of anything._

 _Disclaimer: Rowling owns the Harry Potter mythos and your soul (probably)._

* * *

Mr and Mrs Dursley were proud to say they were perfectly normal in every way, thank you very much! They lived in a perfectly normal house flanked on each side by other perfectly normal houses. The grass on their exactly square lawn was cut in such a straight and precise manner, that a military barber would weep at the beauty of it. There was the single four door car which Mr Dursley took to work every morning and it was a very average shade of grey. Mrs Dursley was a comely woman of average height. She wore her hair just low enough to reach bellow her chin. Her chest and backside were almost entirely flat just like her stomach. She had long legs, skinny like the rest of her. They were her pride. Mr Dursley would tell her how beautiful they were and most nights Mrs Dursley believed him. In any way you could think to measure her, Mrs Dursley was an average suburban wife in her mid-twenties.

Yes, normalcy reigned supreme on Number 4 Privet Drive. It would not be perturbed by anything or anyone. Not even the child who now slept soundly on the Dursley's doorstep in a wicker basket. Although, in the interest of fairness, he was only an infant.

Petunia (Mrs Dursley) had a habit of being awake well before the clock struck anything resembling a reasonable hour and so she was the first to see the infant on her doorstep. She panicked, of course, letting out a small shriek. A long lanky man stepping into his vehicle (for a meeting or something or other) heard enough to glance over at the neighborhood gossip. As far as he could see she was standing alone in her pink bathrobe gazing in horror at nothing. "Spot a mouse, Mrs Dursley? It's all that construction they're doing. We had one as big as my foot the other day. I've a mind to…" His voice trailed off.

It took a very painful very long second for Petunia to put two and two together. "Oh! Yes! Dreadful, isn't it! To think of how one of them might spook my poor Camellia."

"Yes, yes. You'll have to keep that girl of yours indoors. Well, I have to go. Have a good morning, Mrs Dursley. Be a dear and let your husband know I said hello." The man lifted his hat slightly, always eager to show his manners. Petunia nodded her head and smiled in that way suburban wives do. (Broad, wide, and very much a formality.)

"Have a good morning, Mr Polkiss! I'll let Vernon know you wished him well." She waited until the Polkiss vehicle was down the street before she scooped the basket into her arms and ducked back into her home. There were a great many questions running through her mind. Questions that, unfortunately, kept mixing with a whirlwind of emotions and thus were impossible for her to articulate. So, Petunia stared at the baby boy. Harry, this baby had to be Harry. Vernon had asked about him last night. It was sometime before bed and she'd stiffened at the question. She had not needed him of all people asking about Lily. Especially with how adamantly Petunia had ignored the owls, the fireworks, and every other sign of magic throughout that miserable day. Foolishly, she'd allowed herself to think today might be different. It was another in a long line of disappointments.

The letter clutched between Harry's tiny hands finally made its presence known. A low hum filled the room rising every time she tried to look away. It was patient but insistent as if it realized neither had anything better to do and so it was sure to have its way. Petunia suspected only she could hear the humming. She sat down placing the sleeping boy (still in his basket. Petunia was taking her time with all this) beside her. Grudgingly she took the note from the infant's hands and opened it.

Oh but how she could have guessed what it would say! Lily was dead, naturally. (Why else would there be a mysterious baby in a basket?) So was her husband and to the surprise of no one it was in some grand heroic battle against an unspeakable evil. _A Dark Lord!_ And now, NOW!, it was crucial that plain not magical Petunia look after her son. The boy would constantly be threatened by the forces of darkness and it was only through her connection to Lily that the boy could be kept safe. It was all marvelous really. All that was missing was the ancient prophecy and for the Dark Lord's minions to plot his resurrection.

Petunia felt sick. She stood up and paced about the room but found that did nothing for her stomach. There was a bleach smell suddenly assailing her nostrils. Something like the sterility of a hospital room. She didn't care for it. Not one bit. Closing her eyes, she counted to ten. In that time, her sister's face passed through her mind no less than four times. Always smiling, sometimes reaching out to her, and always beautiful.

Improper as it was Petunia would not go to her sister's funeral. She knew herself, for all the good it did. Something would be said and she would retort voice filled with vinegar as it always was when Lily was concerned. There was no stopping it. Remorse meant little, we all regret things we know we'll go on to repeat. An extra drink, an extra sweet, a seventeen-year-old boy looking to experience a woman before uni. The self-loathing of the morning after would only hold you for a month or two. However deep a wound was didn't matter, Petunia knew. Lessons depended on how quickly and how much the scar tissue bled and how long it took to hide the mess afterwards.

Contrary to what she might project, Petunia did not hate Lily. Who could? You can't hate the leading lady. She's gorgeous, smart, talented, kind, and filled with a love that flows out into everyone around her. Everyone adores the leading lady. But love can be bitter and petty. Resentful and jealous too, Petunia reminded herself as she gazed down at the letter. Jealous of the most idiotic things. Even a violent death.

We all covet the strangest things.

The wheel of time turned- wait sorry. That's a different series. In any case time passed. Eight years in all and now young Harry Potter and Camellia Dursley were nine-year-olds. Harry was a small boy, smaller than most, who needed thick glasses to see. His hair was always disheveled especially after it was combed. For a while Petunia felt a smug satisfaction at the sight of him. Most mornings she'd see him and think 'some hero' and it was a beautiful irony to hold over Lily's memory. But then she'd caught him trouncing the Polkiss boy (who was easily twice his size) and the feeling never came back. She'd sent him to his cupboard without any meals that day. When Camelia told her what that horrible Polkiss boy had said Petunia had told her daughter to go to her room and to not ask questions. It's what she usually said to Harry but it fit for some reason.

Oh, and yes. Harry Potter slept in a cupboard underneath the stairs but you knew that. He didn't mind it, really. Inside his cupboard he could hear the comings and goings of Number Four Privet Drive with ease, something impossible from any other place in the house. It was the floorboards, you see. The workmanship was just too good. Only Vernon Dursley's massive steps could be heard anywhere in the house and Harry liked to know his surroundings. And don't think too much of Petunia's threats to starve the boy. Camellia always made sure to sneak him something whenever her parents lost their minds.

This was something the two children had to do for each other unfortunately. Petunia's favorite punishment for Harry was to send him to bed with no meals and Camellia was, well… Camellia was, more to Petunia's horror than that of anyone else in the household, quite pudgy. Some might even say fat, as the Polkiss boy did while blowing raspberries and pointing. (He was growing into a bit of a pillock.) Camellia was a large girl, taller than most boys, who had a round belly that protruded outwards making itself visibly outlined against whatever clothes she wore. Her arms were thick and heavy, just like her legs. Each one looked like they could support the weight of someone much older.

Which fit considering all the running Camellia did. At her mother's behest (because natural blond hair and light blue eyes could only carry a woman so far) the young girl spent many afternoons jogging. Why she needed to do this as well as diet, Camellia had no idea but she was the child so she would defer to her mother.

Harry, being Harry, couldn't care less who the adult in the conversation was and so snuck Camellia sandwiches or whatever else he could make without Petunia noticing. That was one of their secrets. It was the most innocuous of them but then again there were only really two. Harry and Camellia snuck each other food and Harry could perform magic.

Or telekinesis. Camellia wasn't sure of the specifics. It was definitely some sort of super power. They'd discovered it the year prior when she'd talked Harry into stealing some sweets for her and the shopkeeper's three dogs chased them down the street. One moment they were running straight into a dead end and the next they were flying through the air. Fear had given way to exhilaration as she felt Harry pull her up with him. (Wind so loud she couldn't hear herself scream.) The landing had been painful and sudden but much preferred to being mauled by angry dogs. Besides it'd given them something to do when they got sick of jogging.

Since then they'd learned Harry could move objects without touching them, grow his hair out really fast, and pick locks. That last one was after many long hours of Harry staring at the lock on his cupboard imagining each bolt and mechanism sliding into its proper place. Camellia had scoured through her comic books for some explanation of how to do it right but beyond general advice she couldn't help much. More than anything it was the trip to the library and looking up various locks that the pair credited with Harry's success.

There'd been other experiments with things like telepathy and super strength but the former only gave Harry very painful headaches and the latter a near broken hand. For the sake of her cousin's health Camellia had decided it would be better to develop the powers already manifested than try to bring out more. Besides, powers were supposed to come to heroes as they needed them, right?

I suppose that's enough of that. On with the story.

It had been a long winter. Even now with April almost over there was a cold that worked itself into your bones and stayed with you long after you'd made it indoors. (Makes for a good setting, don't you think?) On this morning Petunia awakened to the smell of bacon and the hairs of her husband's mustache. He had nuzzled up against her in his sleep bringing the offending hairs into contact with her neck. They tickled too much, Petunia decided. Like his waistline that mustache grew with every year.

She got herself out of bed. Her feet touched some soft fabric and she recalled how lazy she'd been the night before, leaving her undergarments where they fell. No matter, she could pick them up now along with her stockings and the tumbler Vernon had left on their night stand. He had wanted to celebrate. A massive contract had fallen onto his lap and it was only right his wife follow suit. Petunia obliged, putting on her best pearls and that black dress that ended right above her knee. So happy was Vernon that he lasted much longer than usual and when he'd finished Petunia had been so warm she'd fallen asleep with him.

But now it was morning and she had to curse the lack of foresight of last night's Petunia. At least she'd managed to keep the dress clean. Her stockings hadn't faired nearly as well. Even without them stretched across bare skin Petunia could see tears. Vernon had gotten desperate almost gnawing through them at one point. The tickling hadn't bothered her then, she reflected.

The stockings would have to be thrown out. Everything else she dropped in with what was to be the week's laundry. Except the black dress, of course. That was good enough to hang back up. Gravity would smooth out the wrinkles and a lint brush could take of the rest. Petunia put it back into her closet on the side opposite her cocktail dresses. Then she dropped her evening gloves into a box underneath it. Petunia straightened herself and considered her next course of action. She'd shower, she decided. She'd have to use only the cold water if there was to be any left over for Vernon and Camellia but such was the price of cleanliness.

All in all, it wasn't as bad as she'd feared… at least until she'd made it downstairs. Harry took one look at her through those ridiculous glasses of his (malachite where his eyes should be) and said "You're wearing pearls" in a dry monotone. Petunia's face turned crimson.

"Observant, aren't you?" she all but spat. He said nothing. Petunia considered boxing his ear but realized how foolish it would be to strike a child perched atop a small stool and over an open flame. So she turned around and walked back upstairs. Vernon woke just as she'd finished putting away the piece of jewelry.

"Petunia, love, is that breakfast I smell?" He rolled over onto his side.

"No, it's lunch," she said, her face turned away from him.

"What?" The bed sighed as Vernon sat up. "Oh you're joking." Petunia nodded half hiding a laugh. It wasn't entirely at his expense. "Don't scare me like that. Such a cruel joke to play on your husband. I say you ought to come back to bed and make it up to me. We'll have the boy bring breakfast up to us."

"Another time, dear," Petunia said. She leaned over and stroked her husband's hand. "You'll need all your strength today and you know what they say about women and legs."

Vernon let out a deep chortle. "I don't know how much more you could possibly suck out of me, Petunia." She raised her eyebrows at him. "Oh don't look at me like that. You didn't mind last night, did you?" Petunia visibly rolled her eyes. "All right, all right. Heavens, woman. I don't suppose there's any warm water left?"

"Oh there's plenty," Petunia said brightly. "Now hurry up. I need my big strong caretaker to get out there and provide for his family." Vernon laughed. Tossing aside the bedcovers he rolled out of bed and into his slippers. Once he was out of sight Petunia went about her morning routine. She moved with practiced ease, gliding from one end of the room to the other. After making the bed she laid out Vernon's suit and his shoes. For his tie, she chose red. It was a bold color and she wanted Vernon to look assertive for this second round of negotiations.

"Vernon, dear," she called opening the bathroom door slightly. "I've laid out your suit. I'm off to make sure Camellia doesn't sleep in."

"Thank you, love," Vernon said in that gruff voice of his but she'd already left.

Camellia was a heavy sleeper, something she'd probably inherited from her father. The only way to wake her was to shake her, something Petunia loathed to do. This was her baby after all. "Camellia, sweetums," Petunia said. She shook the girl's shoulder until she heard a low 'hm.' "Camellia, my beautiful white and red and pink flower, it's time for breakfast." The girl opened her eyes. They were such a lovely blue, Petunia thought. Once she had that weight under control her daughter would be gorgeous. "Time to get up."

"I'm up, mum."

"That's my angel. Now go wash up. Mummy will have your clothes ready for when you're done." She looked down on her daughter. Camellia yawned, looked up to Petunia, and shook her head. "Sweetums, you need to wash up," Petunia began before Camellia cut her off.

"I'll wash up, mum. I just meant I can get my own clothes. I'm getting big enough," Camellia said with all the confidence of a nine-year-old.

"Of course you are, dear. But humor your mother for today." Petunia patted her daughter's forearm. "How's this, today you may do your hair yourself, hm? How does that sound?" The girl frowned but got up and did as her mother bid. Cleaning Camellia's room went by much quicker than cleaning her own. There were no signs of sex to hide and Camellia was diligent in returning everything to its proper place. Well, in truth Camellia's toys were never touched at all. The girl had little interest in her dolls or tea sets. Not when there were super powers to figure out or comics to steal (Petunia wouldn't hear of them not for her daughter and certainly not for the boy).

Once she was downstairs Petunia took a moment to glare at Harry, daring him to find some new fault on her part. When he didn't she joined him by the stove and went about helping prepare breakfast. It was a good English breakfast, heavy on the meats and fats. The Dursley household would stand for nothing less.

Of the two it was Camellia who made it downstairs first with Vernon a not too distant second. Camellia had only just taken her seat when Vernon barked "Comb your hair!" at her cousin. She giggled knowing all the good that would do. "Honestly, boy, do you think you'll ever find good work looking like that? Look at your cousin here or that Polkiss boy next door. One a proper lady and the other a proper gentleman. You could learn from them." Vernon could rattle off stock prices and the going rate of heavy machinery as easily as if it were a child's multiplication tables. He saw himself as an authority on what it took to get up in the world. "Mark my words. You'll be living off government dole if you don't shape up. Why-" He shoveled three sausages into his mouth and was so overtaken by the flavor he lost his chain of thought. "Marvelous, Petunia. You've outdone yourself!"

Petunia smiled. "Thank you, Vernon." She sat with hands clasped over her legs, letting her eyes roam over the table. Her husband was happily feeding himself having moved on to mixing his hash browns with his egg yolks. The second chin he'd grown bulged out as he chewed and swallowed. The skin was freshly shaven. He was the picture of pure suburban bliss. Harry not so much. His messy hair was only the start. The drab grey of his shirt stood out against the immaculately dressed Dursleys in the same way a plum suit would at a board meeting. Worse still was how cartoonishly small the thing was. Harry might not be as tall as boys his age but he was still growing and clothes two years too old would look stupid on him eventually. It was only because he was so skinny that Petunia had been able to delay taking him to a shop for so long.

With a grimace Petunia turned to her daughter Camellia who was in the middle of interrogating a grapefruit. For some reason the girl couldn't ferret out how something that was supposedly a mix of grapes and oranges (both perfectly edible foods) could taste so terribly. Camellia noticed her mother looking and forced a spoon into the fruit's reddish insides. Reluctantly she then brought the contents to her mouth. Holding the spoon just outside her open maw, Camellia looked to Petunia for some sign she wouldn't have to go through with it. Petunia only looked back with that grimace she'd first fixed on Harry. Resigned to her fate Camellia moved the spoon those last few inches into her mouth. The girl made a face, something between having sucked on a lemon and being poked with a dull needle, then swallowed.

Lord of all she surveyed, Petunia turned to her own plate. She cut the tip off one of the sausages Harry had prepared and placed it between her molars. Having already resolved to skip lunch, Petunia would try enjoying breakfast. Which was for the best. This was to be her last meal before the "madness" started in earnest.

Once Vernon was seen to his car and the children had gone off to school, Petunia's thoughts finally had room to move about.

She made her way to the sink and ran cold water over her hands. The first plate she picked up was caked with syrup and ketchup. When held sideways a few beans that hidden away to escape the feeding frenzy tumbled into the sink. Vernon's, Petunia thought. His always took the longest to clean. The next plate was entirely bare. There weren't even yellow streaks of egg yolk for her to clean. Harry's. Petunia tried to remember what the boy had had. An egg and a slice of toast. She considered the symbolism behind each plate. She remembered how she enjoyed doing that sort of thing back in secondary. How she would sit and pontificate on the meaning behind her and Lily's names.

True to her name, Petunia had taken Lily's friend. He was a pale boy with slick hair and a long ugly nose. She'd found him alone one summer, down by where he and Lily used to play. Even with his head bowed she could tell he'd been crying. Such a pathetic boy, forever dressed in black playing at being some terrifying creature of darkness or night or whatever. There was something so weak and vulnerable about him always but especially then. He'd been sixteen, if memory served her right. Petunia had called out to him, he'd ignored her, and then she'd guessed what had happened. (On her first try too.) His tune changed instantly. He begged her to tell him some way he could apologize to Lily. To make her understand how- whatever it was wasn't that big a deal. Petunia didn't know of any. Then she laughed. He'd stared at her with wide fearful eyes.

At the time Petunia had wanted to cut them out of his head and put them in a glass jar to keep over her bed.

Reaching between his legs she'd grabbed hold of his cock. It was a weak flaccid thing and she made sure to let him know. Even Lily would laugh, she'd said. Was that why he was here crying? Something in the boy snapped then and he'd thrown Petunia to the ground. Looking up at him Petunia clutched the hem of her skirt and lifted it until her fist was immediately over her cunt. She asked him if yelling and throwing were the only ways he knew how to be man and if it meant his daddy liked to throw him around too? The question pierced the pretension he'd enveloped himself in. To her disgust tears came down his face and his body shook with a sob. "None of that. We were having fun. Now just close those eyes and pretend I'm your Lily. I'll even scream if you like."

The doorbell brought Petunia out of her reverie. Mrs Figgs was outside bundled in enough coats to fill a department store. "Hallo, Petunia! Mind if I come in?" She looked at the younger woman, a large grin plastered across her face. Petunia, remembering her plans to take Camellia to a salon and how Vernon couldn't stomach the boy for more than a few moments at a time, smiled and nodded. "Damned cold. Excuse my language."

"Oh, you're just saying what we're all thinking, Mrs Figgs." Petunia took the woman's coat. It was the neighborly thing to do.

"Colder than a witch's- well you know the rest."

"Can I interest you in something to drink?"

The old woman shook her head. "No, no. I just wanted to drop by and-" The two women sat opposite each other a small table separating them. "You know, you've the most sense of any of the women in Surrey, myself included."

"That's certainly very kind of you to say, Mrs Figgs, but I don't know if that's fair to the women of Privet Drive. Or yourself," Petunia added, that same smile from before still in its place.

"All the same, I'd like your thoughts on something." She leaned forward and darted her head sideways and back as if she and Petunia weren't alone. "I've seen some nasty looking troublemakers loafing about lately."

"Goodness!" Petunia brought her hand up to her mouth.

Mrs Figgs nodded. "Exactly right." She leaned back in her seat.

"What have you seen them doing, Mrs Figgs?"

"Oh causing a ruckus and all that. Screaming about South Africa and apartheid and-and to give Old Maggie the guillotine. The typical rubbish. Why if only your husband could have seen them he'd have set those layabouts straight!" Mrs Figgs was an excitable woman but not given to flights of fancy. She was seldom even seen outside her home and away from her many strange cats. Petunia cocked her head to the side and listened. "I tell you, Petunia. There's some serious mischief tonight and I just don't know what to do!"

Petunia leaned forward placing a hand on the table between them. "What is this world coming to, Mrs Figgs? It's that full moon tonight. It's got all these freaks bolder than usual." A look passed over Mrs Figgs' face. It was gone as quickly as it came giving Petunia no time to wonder what it might mean. "I'll let Mr Dursley know the minute he gets home. In fact! I'll phone him during his launch break."

This pleased Mrs Figgs. The old woman nodded again before giving the room an appreciative once over. "You've such a lovely home here, Petunia. You'd barely know there were two kids living under this roof."

"You are too kind, Mrs Figgs, really."

"They both sleep upstairs then?"

Petunia's back went rigid at the question. She checked to make sure there was still a smile on her face before answering. "Of course. They didn't build these houses with any spare rooms on the ground floor, did they?" Mrs Figg's grin shrunk into a smile Petunia did not like. It reminded her of the smile that old bearded warlock liked to wear.

"I'm so sorry to pry, Petunia. You know how I am."

"It's not prying at all, Mrs Figgs. But now that I have you here- Oh heavens, I'm so embarrassed to ask this!" Petunia looked away. She lifted a hand up to her cheek as if to hide a blush. "I was hoping to take my little girl- you remember her. Camellia. Well, I wanted to take her to a hair dresser's, you know, introduce her to the world of womanhood before that means fighting off boys." Mrs Figgs laughed, that grin now back on her face. "And it's just that it's supposed to be a girls' thing and Vernon, heaven bless him, is always so busy. Would it be too much to ask that-"

Mrs Figgs shot up out of her seat. Petunia rose with her. "You don't need to say anymore, Petunia. I know how important time with your daughter is. I'd be happy to look after Harry." The two women made their way to the door Mrs Figgs taking the lead. "I'm so glad I came over."

"I am too, Mrs Figgs." Petunia helped the older woman into her coat. "I just wish it didn't need to be because of something so unpleasant."

Finally standing in the liminality that existed between the Dursley's front door and the rest of Privet Drive, Mrs Figgs turned to look at Petunia with that queer smile again. "Petunia, I just won't have any rest unless you promise me to keep those lovely angels indoors tonight."

"With this weather?" Petunia's hand gripped the door hard enough for her knuckles to turn white. "Mrs Figgs, I wouldn't let them out for the world." As soon as Mrs Figgs turned her back Petunia's smile vanished. She envisioned the woman's head exploding (tufts of blood stained hair across the pavement. Shrieks and shouts of confusion drowning out her cackles) but lacking any supernatural power all Petunia managed was to further incense herself. There had been something in the conversation, she mused as she closed the door. Either some clue or oddity she _should_ have caught.

Mrs Figgs without her cats… Why did that seem so important? Their almost gaunt figures jumped to the forefront of Petunia's mind. Skinny little gross things that wouldn't even rub up against your leg and pointedly ignored you unless you reached to pet them and then they scratched and hissed in rage. There was also Mrs Figgs' reason for visiting. Some story about student protesters? Here near Privet Drive? This was Tory country. Half the soon to be born girls were to be named Margaret and the older men still talked about the Second World War as if it would somehow make British steel competitive. So where would these protesters have even come from? Did they commute?

The house felt crowded suddenly. Petunia tried to turn her memory back to that day with Lily's friend but it no longer did anything for her. She considered sipping a bit of the Laphroaig Vernon liked to keep stashed away but then she remembered he'd drank all save what he'd poured over her breasts. Petunia frowned. In her mind she ran through errands to distract herself with. Each chore seemed more asinine than the last. Petunia looked from the front door to the stair case and then to cupboard underneath the stairs. Now here was a thing. Try as she might she could not remember when she last inspected it. Vernon had been in there once to put the boy's bed in but beyond that…

She'd been avoiding it. Whether intentionally she didn't know. In four long steps Petunia closed the distance between the cupboard and herself. Her eyes narrowed and her hand closed around the lock. As if trying to catch whatever was inside off-guard Petunia threw the door open. No toads jumped out nor could she see any rat-tailed teacups chittering. There was only Harry's bed, a small stack of books, and an even smaller stack of clothes. She took a long deep breath. No dust. The boy was a diligent cleaner.

Because it was there, Petunia sat down on Harry's bed. She looked about the room in the same way she imagined Harry might. The stack of clothes lay by the foot of the bed. If Petunia leaned left she could easily snatch up a t-shirt or pair of pants. Likewise, if she leaned to her right Harry's schoolbooks were well within reach. There was nothing mystical or strange about the room. Well, if one ignored it was a cupboard and not an actual room and that a nine-year-old boy slept in it. But those were other issues and not ones Petunia was currently interested in.

The letter had said, very confidently, that Harry would be magical. By the age of nine Lily had already caused a tv to explode and a tree to catch fire. So Petunia decided to work under the assumption Harry could perform magic. Why then were there no signs of it? Because he was hiding it from her, of course. She picked up the boy's notebook (it was on the top of the pile) and flipped through the pages. Each one was filled with detailed notes. Both the boy and Camellia were exemplary students. Their teachers sent home notes every other week congratulating the Durlseys on a job well done. It wasn't everyday they had to reach for secondary school material to keep their students occupied.

Somewhere along the margins Petunia read 'has to be better way to teach identities. no way cam'll memorize all this.' Beside the scribbles was a circle with pi symbols besides numbers every 30 degrees or so. There were other notes. 'tell cam to review this. she'll forget' and 'it's like weird algebra.' Petunia resolved not to tell Vernon their daughter's scholastic success was due in part to the apparent tutoring her cousin gave. The man so loved to imagine her at the head of a boardroom and it would be a cruelty Petunia could not approve of to mar Vernon's fantasies with thoughts of his nephew.

The two cousins were close, Petunia noted.

Like reminds one of like, if mystery novels held any truth in them at least. And so it followed that magic would remind Petunia of magic. After Mrs Figgs had left, Petunia's had only pondered the riddle of the older woman a short while before her mind wandered to Harry. This cupboard had been the only thing to jump out at her in the whole house. Did that mean Mrs Figgs was a witch? She was always eager to take the boy… and the time Camellia had let slip a man bowed to Harry while at the grocer's Mrs Figgs had laughed. But then why was Mrs Figgs here? Was she somehow meant to spy on them? Try as she might Petunia could not remember how it was Mrs Figgs supported herself. A life insurance policy? There were no pictures of handsome men anywhere in her home. There were no pictures at all…

Then there were the notes in this maths notebook. Camellia was related to this strangeness too. She was too close to Harry not be. Besides, if the boy was keeping his freakishness a secret an accomplice would make it easier. These were the thoughts that led Petunia out of Harry's cupboard, up the stairs, and into her daughter's room. In truth, her daughter had two rooms but the second was entirely bare except for a book shelf. Originally it was meant to store all of Camellia's extra things but the girl had never filled it. Year after year it remained empty.

Petunia walked to her daughter's bed and sat down. Like with Harry's cupboard she tried to see the space around her as her daughter might. Harry was a straight forward boy. He needed little and asked for less. Camellia was a different animal. The girl's mind never stopped jumping from idea to idea. There was almost no sensibility to the girl however much it pained Petunia to admit it. If there were secrets in this room they wouldn't be under the mattress or somewhere within reach. They would be somewhere where Camellia could show off her cleverness. Petunia scanned the room again and then like a bolt it hit her. She sat up and pulled open the top drawer of Camellia's dresser.

It was filled with all the clothes the girl hated. Petunia ran her hand through the drawer's insides. She found its width and length to be exactly right but the height did not match the drawer's depth. Her hand bottomed out a full inch before it should. Petunia ran her hand along the edge again. Finally it found a small hole just large enough for two fingers to fit through. She hooked her ring and middle fingers through it and pulled. The false bottom lifted easily even with the weight of Camellia's clothes. Petunia had enough self-control to place the wooden board on Camellia's bed without disturbing any of the clothes too much. But had she seen what the makeshift lid was covering…

Inside the hidden compartment were various half eaten sweets all carefully rewrapped with paper and plastic. Petunia saw too a comic book. On its cover was the face of a man void of defining details. His hair seemed to rise up in a billowing blackish blur. Along the margins were various objects, all in their own neat little boxes. One held an hourglass and the one below it a strange totem. Petunia picked it up. She didn't even need to open it. No sooner had she lifted the comic book that three pieces of paper fell out. These were what she had been looking for. They detailed Camellia's exploration of Harry's abilities going into the children's successes and failures. For a year now this had been going on.

Petunia sat herself at the foot of the bed, Camellia's notes still clutched in her hand. She touched nothing else. The children would be home by six thirty. With the mystery solved there was no need for Petunia to take any other action and so she chose to wait. But Petunia was an imaginative woman. With no one to remind her that Harry was a nine-year-old boy her mind generated more and more outlandish ideas. Soon Harry was cast as a manipulative monster, a miniature Anti-Christ yet to come into his full power. There was no companion to steer Petunia in any other direction. Yvonne was a talkative and friendly woman but she knew nothing of magic. Petunia was not even sure what would happen to her if she began to tell others about the secret society of reality warpers who lived just outside the of sight of mundanes like her. Lily had once said there were specialist wizards who modified memories.

But Petunia knew enough of herself to know that those fears didn't matter. Not to her. These were immaterial things. To forget would be a blessing and the lives of those outside her home were too distant to hurt her. Her motives went far beyond the now. They were in the heavy smokestacks of the mill in Cokeworth and in pools of mud so deep a little girl might drown in.

When the children arrived Petunia still did not move. She could hear Camellia shouting for her, laughing as she always did. "Mum!" the girl said. Her footsteps, so like her father's, pounded on each step as she climbed the stairs. "Mum, you won't believe it. This berk tried to tell Harry and me we were in the wrong place. Said we wouldn't be able to follow the lesson. The nerve! So Harry-" Camellia stopped speaking suddenly. She had arrived at the door to her room and she could now see her mother sitting rigid as marble on her bed. The drawer where Camellia hid her candies was opened. "Mum-" Camellia began but never finished. Her mother had stood.

"Camellia," Petunia said through thin lips. "Fetch your cousin and bring him here." As with the grapefruit Camellia looked to her mother hoping she'd change her mind but Petunia would not. With her head hung low Camellia turned away from her room and back towards the stairs. Petunia scarcely heard either child's footsteps now. They returned to her too slowly for Petunia's liking and so when Harry appeared she closed the distance between them and struck the boy across the face. Camellia sobbed.

"Mummy, no!" the girl cried. "It's my fault see. I put Harry up to getting me the chocolates. He tried to talk me out of it, Mummy, honest."

Petunia wasn't listening. Harry was looking at up her. His eyes were malachite, vibrant but toxic to those who breathed them in. "You've been involving my daughter in your freakishness." Petunia held up Camellia's notes. Harry blinked, his cheek was turning red but it didn't seem to bother him. "Anything to say?"

"You knew then?" Petunia flinched. "About what I can do?"

"Your mother was a freak. Your father was a freak. It follows that you'd be a freak."

Something like a smile came over Harry's face. "That's alright then," he whispered to no one in the room.

It was too much for Petunia. She struck the boy again. "Alright, is it? Alright?" Camellia was saying something but Petunia couldn't hear anything over her own heartbeat. Again and again she hit the boy. "Of course it's alright for you! Feeding my girl sweets. Keeping her fat so you and the other lads can have a laugh. Why wouldn't it be alright? Oh you played my little girl, didn't you? Did you promise to keep showing her magic? _To someday teach her some?!_ " Harry had lifted his hands to protect himself. It hurt to strike his bony forearms so Petunia took hold of them and pulled them away from his face. Now she could see how easily the tears feel and how his mouth twisted itself into ugly knots as it worked out how to express Harry's pain. He really was just a little boy after all.

Camellia's sobbing finally reached Petunia and she turned to see the girl recoiling in horror. Then she was lifted off the floor and thrown across Camellia's room. Petunia hit the far wall beside the room's only window but she didn't fall. Instead she felt herself held in place by some unseen force. It was so great she was certain she could feel her ribs about to crack. "Harry, stop. Mum- Mum, didn't mean it. Did you mom, Mum?" Petunia couldn't answer. The pressure wouldn't let air into her lungs. "She was just mad on account of the chocolates. It's my fault, really. Don't-don't take it out on her."

The force disappeared and without it Petunia slumped to the floor. She looked up in time to see Harry coming towards her at a full sprint. At first she thought he was coming in to kill her and breathed a sigh of relief but then she heard the window fly open. Harry leapt through it. When Petunia finally managed to right herself well enough to look outside there was no sign of the boy to be found.

"Shit!" Petunia slammed the window shut. "Shit. Shit. _Shit!_ " She ran to her room. Her stride slowed only when Petunia snatched up her panicking daughter and held her like she had when the girl was much younger. "Don't you cry, Camellia. Your cousin will be right back and your mother will buy you both lots of candies and sweets for you to eat." Petunia let the girl down on her bed and reached for the telephone. She all but smashed the phone as she dialed the number for Mrs Figgs. "And she'll take you both to the zoo for your birthday and you'll get to see the snakes and lions and you'll get icecreams from the shop and- and- _Will you bloody pick up!_ "

Petunia hit the switchhook and dialed a new number. "Yes, hello? My name is Petunia Dursley. I'm calling from Number Four Privet Drive. Yes. My nephew has run off and I can't find him. We had a fight you see and he ran out without so much as a coat. Yes. Oh, he's a small thing, only nine-years-old. His name is Harry Potter. He wears thick round glasses. Trousers and shirt are both grey. Yes. Oh, not even an hour but I'm so worried. Yes. Yes, thank you so much." Petunia hit the hook again. "Camellia, my perfect flower, I need you to do something for me."

"W-what is it?"

"Do you remember Mrs Figgs' number?" Camellia nodded. "What a good, clever girl. I need you to keep ringing her. When she answers let her know what happened and tell her I ran off to find Harry. If she knows anyone who's… _special_ like Harry, I would very much appreciate their help. Can you do all that for me, my preciousness?" The girl nodded again. "Very good. Your father will be home soon. Don't let him order takeaway until you've gotten through to Mrs Figgs." Petunia traded places with her daughter.

"Don't forget your coat, mum." It was all the girl could think to say.

Not fifteen minutes had elapsed since Petunia had first raised her hand against Harry. The door to her house looked alien. All of her home did. But she could not let it bother her now. Clad in her thickest winter coat and clutching Harry's, Petunia gazed out onto Privet Drive. The sun's last rays had coated everything in red. Wind rustled the top of the trees. Nothing else moved and petunia's breath rose up like mist before dissipating into the air. It was a foreboding image, one that in all her novels heralded danger. She stepped out into it anyway.

* * *

 _Thank you for reading. Let me know what you think in friendly or unfriendly terms. Either way feedback is appreciated._


	2. The Disappearing Figgs

_Hello. Managed to get this chapter up quicker than I expect. All the better since there's other things that need doing._

 _Disclaimer: I'm broke. Flat broke._

 ** _BASED ON THE HARRY POTTER NOVELS BY JK ROWLING_**

* * *

Nearly twenty minutes had passed since Camellia saw her mother leave and it had been exactly ten since the girl began to panic. No matter how many times she dialed Mrs Figgs would not answer. The line would ring and ring until the girl hung up and tried again. No light shown in from the window anymore so Camellia's fingers moved by memory. Without light, the smiling faces on the Dursley family pictures soon disappeared along with their wooden frames. Everything except the plastic sheen of the house phone became grey and black blurs. Camellia hated them. To her young mind they moved with the ticking of her wrist watch. The large hand continued its laps completely disregarding the gravity of the situation as if time were an infinite resource. It paid no heed to the fact Camellia sat alone on her mother's bed.

Would Mrs Figgs even return to her home, she inevitably wondered? What if the old woman was asleep in her bed and no matter how many times the phone rang she would not hear it? The little girl's breathing began to quicken. Nothing about tonight was right. Camellia did as her mother often told her and took a long deep breath. Panic was not a productive emotion, according to both her mother and her comic book heroes. It made us unresponsive and compliant in the face of death. There was much in the stories she read that Camellia didn't understand but death was all too obvious to her. Death is what happened when you stepped on a bug or when that stray dog was hit by a falling brick. Camellia did not want Harry to die.

She hung up the phone. A half hour was enough time wasted on a doomed project, Camellia reasoned. Be proactive, not reactive, as her father liked to say. Camellia stood up and ran to her own room. From underneath her mattress she produced a notebook and pen. _Dearest Father,_ she wrote on a blank page. _Harry ran off and Mother went to find him. She wanted me to tell Mrs Figgs what happened but I can't reach her by phone so I'm going to her house. Mother says to order takeaway. Your obedient daughter, Camellia._ She looked her short letter over. Papa liked it when she was formal. Hopefully it would lessen the blow of arriving to an empty house. Camellia tore out the page. She didn't bother to hide her notebook afterwards, it seemed a pointless thing to do with everything else already on her mattress.

Her trip down the stairs and to the front door was easier than she'd expected. Too often she'd seen in stories that the moment before some great undertaking the would-be hero was hesitant. It was a theme so common Camellia assumed it a universal truth. Instead she felt an odd sort of excitement. Now that her cousin was not crying and her mother was no longer screaming, she felt no distractions. In front of her was a thing to be done. There was no one to appeal to and failure would mean something terrible, so every decision was made for her. The note would be left on the tele as Papa liked to watch the evening news. Her coat was still on the coat rack right next to the extra set of house keys.

It was colder outside than she remembered. Or perhaps it was that she'd been inside for too long. Neither made much difference in the scheme of things but nevertheless Camellia cursed her own weakness. That women's natural state was frailty did not mean Camellia had to be happy about it. For all her size… At any rate, it was cold and Camellia did not like that it was cold. The sun had set so there were only the streetlamps to illuminate her path. As with Petunia the streets were empty something that troubled Camellia. She began to wonder if she'd misread the situation. Perhaps this wasn't a comic book story. Perhaps this was a horror film and she the young innocent blond girl was about to be the monster's first victim. But then what of Harry's powers?

A massive hand took hold of Camellia's left shoulder. Her worst fears seemingly confirmed the girl lashed out with a wild swing. Thankfully she struck nothing. "Easy, there, girly! Easy!" The voice sounded familiar. Camellia turned around to see the oddest suit of armor that hadn't come out of her comic books. It was almost entirely form fitting with no chainmail links used except over the crotch. And even that was obscured by a sort of metal skirt that ran from what would be the midriff to the middle thighs. At each shoulder looked to be a row of plates that Camellia guessed allowed for freer movement. How anyone could see through the single slit in the helmet the girl had no idea but she supposed protection sometimes trumped visibility. The helmet looked more like an oddly shaped bowl than the suits she'd seen in story books. Everything was made weirder by the… well it sort of looked to be a shotgun? In any case the figure carried a firearm in its right hand.

"Damn it, girl, quit gawping!" Camellia immediately shut her mouth. "What're you doing out of your house?"

"Mrs Figgs?" The voice was harsher than usual and sounded almost northern but it could only belong to that cantankerous old woman. "Mrs Figgs, it's me Camellia."

"I know it's you!" The old woman took hold of Camellia's forearm and began pulling her back towards Number Four Privet Drive. "You've got no business being out on a night like this."

"That's why I come to find you." Mrs Figgs' pace was incredible. To her credit Camellia managed to keep up without stumbling. "Mum and Harry fought so Harry jumped out the window and ran off. Mum went out to find him and told me to call you but you didn't answer so I left the house to come and get you." The old woman had stopped. She turned her head slowly. Camellia felt very self-conscious. It was amazing how much emotion could be communicated by a chunk of immovable metal. "I- it's my fault really. See I made Harry nick these chocolates-"

"Your mom's a clever bird. Give me your hand." As Camellia moved to comply, Mrs Figgs tore a small silver disk off the butt of her shotgun. She placed it in the palm of Camellia's outstretched hand. "You're going to feel a pinch." Despite the warning Camellia still gave a small shout. Her blood fell into grooves on the disk revealing strange runic writing visible even in the dark. Mrs Figgs closed Camellia's hand over the talisman. "Listen here. Run straight back home, lock every door and window in the house, and stay there until the sun comes up. Someone will be by tonight to check up on you. They'll be a wizard so expect them on a flying broomstick." Camellia didn't know if she should laugh. Besides, her hand stung pretty bad.

"Don't worry about your mother or Harry. I'll look after them but I need you to give this medallion back to this cat after you get home." A very ugly cat appeared from beside Mrs Figgs. It may have been Camellia's imagination but it looked as if it were trying to look unbothered by everything that was happening. "Do not let go of it until then. Do you hear me, girl?" Camellia made a small noise that indicated she did. "Good then. Go!" The girl did not need to be told twice. She turned away from the old woman and set off back to her home.

Everything went by in a blur from there. In the years to come Camellia would recall returning the strange trinket to the cat and how it clamped down on it before completely disappearing. The shock of an animal vanishing is probably why that part of the night stood out. But besides that one moment nothing else would come to her. She'd turned on all the lights and gone up to her room. The blankets had somehow ended up underneath the bed with her. (Perhaps to deal with the half-frozen floor. But, then again, she'd never taken off her coat.) Camellia crouched there for what she later found out was at most an hour. There was a light knocking on her window.

Camellia poked her head out from under the bed. There was a man at her window. He had red hair made up into a short mohawk and piercings all along his right eyebrow. His face was kind, the sort you trust, but there was something mischievous about it. Impish almost. Remembering what Mrs Figgs had said, Camellia got out from under the bed and made her way to the window. The man watched with some amusement as she fumbled with the latch. "Got it, love? Maybe put down the club?" she heard him say. The lock finally cooperated and Camellia was able to let the stranger in. She stepped back holding her father's five-iron close to her chest. "Thanks." His voice was deeper than she'd expect for a face like his. And his clothes made no sense at all. Over a reddish-brown tunic, he wore a sleeveless black cloak that reached all the way to his ankles. The tunic ended just above the knee and the waist was cinched in with a belt. He wore no trousers and Camellia was too embarrassed to check if he wore no pants too.

Vernon would assuredly disapprove of this young man but he had never arrived home. He had called while Camellia was away and sthus was not able communicate that he would not be home until the following night. All for the best. A trouserless wizard with a mohawk and piercings may have been too much for his heart.

"You must be Harry's cousin, then," he said.

"Is Harry alright?" Camellia blurted out. "Did mum find him?!" The man frowned.

* * *

It was still light out (if barely) when Petunia found Harry. His chin was tucked in and his arms were crossed over his chest. Although Petunia could not see them (Harry's hands were buried in his armpits) she guessed each hand was balled into a fist. He was shivering violently, the thin shirt he wore did nothing to keep out the cold. Without Petunia's consent, her mind wandered back to Lily. Cold had never bothered that girl. Whether November rain or sleet in January, nothing ever stuck to Lily's body or her clothes.

"Harry." The name sounded strange to Petunia. She'd have to try again. Besides, the boy hadn't responded. "Harry, come here. Put this coat on. We're going home. It's not safe being out here at night."

"Is it- is it any safer back there?" Tears were coming down Harry's face again. Cold winds had a way of forcing them out of you. He glared angrily at Petunia but the picture of defiance was marred by his chattering teeth and uncontrollable shivering.

"Yes. Yes, it is," Petunia said softly. "Now please put on your coat." That much he would do. Harry held out his shivering arm. There wasn't much dexterity left in his body so Petunia had help him into his coat and work the zipper for him. She did it all in silence, neither of them meeting each other's eyes. "Where would you even go?"

"Friary over in Guildford." Harry's answer was automatic. "I'd already got a tenner for helping some boys at school with their maths. Thought I'd do magic tricks for passersby. Make enough quid to buy some clothes. Eat what the restaurants throw out every night. Break into an inn if they don't rent to boys without parents. Wait until the weather warmed and then… try to find other people like me."

Petunia listened. As he spoke she looked at his face. It was turned away from her but she could see the green of his eyes. She still did not like that color but she'd never cared for it on Lily either. "You thought a lot about this. And quickly. Come on. If you want to meet people like your mother you shouldn't run away. They'll send a letter when you're eleven." Harry's head snapped up. He forgot the cold and stared open mouthed into his aunt's impassive form. She walked away from him at a quick speed and he nearly jogged to keep up with her. "The letter will be from a secret college that teaches magic. Harry- you're a wizard."

"A wizard?"

"I said you could do magic, didn't I?" Petunia hated questions. The two walked a bit more before she continued. There wasn't much sun left and she hated walking through quiet streets at night. "You're not as good your mother was at your age. Cold never bothered her none. A blizzard hit once and she was the only one who could make it out to the grocer's." Harry made a small noise that might have indicated indignation or amazement. It was hard to tell with chattering teeth.

"Why did she have to go out?" Harry asked.

"It was my birthday and there wasn't anything in the house." She didn't look at Harry when she spoke.

The pair walked some distance before a completely nude man appeared in front of them. He had long matted grey hair and thick whiskers that overran his face. His body was impossibly muscled as if his own pale white skin threatened to be torn apart by them. Petunia and Harry stopped. The naked man chuckled. His two swollen balls bounced when he did. "Going for a walk this late, miss? Ah and with your boy too. Tsk tsk. The streets ain't safe now is they?" Petunia moved to place herself between this stranger and Harry. "Now that's a proper bit of care taking now innit? You'd hardly tell you liked smacking the boy." The man paused to appreciate the confused looks on their faces. "Oh, I'd been following the boy for a few minutes before you found him. Was about to make my move too. Well and good I didn't. This family stuff's right fun to listen to."

"Who are you?" demanded Petunia.

"Greyback. Fenrir Greyback." Petunia snorted. He looked at her, a sick smile playing on his face. "Think it's funny, do you?"

"I think it sounds like you were twelve and stuck with a name like Neville or Mortimer so you came up with something your friend's thought sounded scary." Greyback laughed. It sounded like a howl. He cocked his head to the side and continued to stare. The way the moonlight reflected off his white teeth made something in Petunia's mind click. She threw herself at Greyback, knocking the man over. He looked up at her still laughing but now his body seemed different. The hair on his face was certainly growing even longer and wilder. The sun had already set. The moon was now looking down at them. "Run, Harry! Get out of here!" But the boy didn't. He looked at his aunt, the veins along his temples now bulging out against his skin.

Petunia felt the same force she had back at her home except now it moved her up and back instead of flinging her violently. When she landed it was next to Harry who was still focused entirely on the wolfman. Beads of sweat built up around his brow as his face twisted into angrier and angrier scowls. There was no mistaking his intention. Harry wanted to kill this monster the same way he had threatened to kill Petunia; by crushing it underneath the weight of his power. But try as he might he could not. Greyback was rising to his feet, his own power being too much for such a death. The monster's magic manifested itself as a silvery mist that emanated from his fur. To Petunia the skinny tendrils were a beautiful and wretched thing twirling in the moonlight as if this were party or dance.

The transformation was complete and Petunia had a fairly good idea how this movie normally ended. She stood up. There on the other side of the street was a red MGB with the hood down. Petunia ran to it choosing to believe Harry would hold until she'd managed to hotwire the old car. The model couldn't have changed much since her youth, could it?

Today, on this night, faith would be rewarded. The engine came to life. It roared just as Greyback made it onto all fours. Refusing to be outdone he let out a howl that reverberated through Petunia's whole body. Whatever force Harry had commanded vanished and he was thrown back, his head colliding painfully with the pavement. Greyback made a sound somewhere between a bark and a laugh. Now at his full height, the dread wolf looked as if he could indeed birth sons so terrible they'd snuff out all light in this world. But Petunia was here in a near worthless British car. She rammed him.

It was not entirely unlike hitting a moose or cow.

The car was totaled. Greyback's torso had smacked into the bonnet causing it to almost fold around him. And it might have had the momentum not carried him through the windscreen and into the car itself. He was now sprawled out inside it, his many broken bones crying out in anger. A flight of fancy saved Petunia's life. Thinking back to all of her books and stories, she'd jumped out of the vehicle just before impact. Her elbows hurt something fierce but she could move them. Petunia stood herself up (it seemed to be a recurring theme that day) and looked for Harry who was still where the wolfman's magic had thrown him.

She ran to him. He was breathing and looking up at her but his eyes seemed out of focus. "Harry!" Petunia felt for a pulse. She feared a concussion but soon realized Harry's state was due to something else. His heartrate was obscene. To her it looked as if Harry had just forced himself to sprint a full 10k race. There was sweat everywhere. "Oh gods, Harry." So light was her nephew, Petunia felt as she could hold him in just one arm. She didn't, their coats would have made things cumbersome, but it still disconcerting to know other human being took up so little space. "Come on, Harry. We need to get out of here." The howl that came from inside the MGB served as enough proof of that.

Greyback was back on all fours. While his legs seemed to be fixing themselves (already the bone of an open fracture along his left leg had retreated under the skin) Greyback was unwilling to let his quarry escape. He howled again and this time Petunia found herself forced down onto her knees. No matter what she did she could not move. There was no strength in them at all. Something had rooted her in place. Petunia looked on in horror as the monster crawled towards them. Its right eye was a bloody hole now. Its jaw hung stupidly to the side and blood drippled out of it. There was no more escaping, Petunia realized. If only she'd snatched Harry up and sped off instead of crashing into the damned thing. But then Petunia remembered the monster was magical. Perhaps he could have willed the car to stop with his magic. Or perhaps he'd have simply chased them down with those massive legs. She had never been one to question what could have been so she would not start now.

"I'm sorry, Harry." Petunia whispered. "Tell Camellia I love her and that- and that I'll miss her birthday party." Harry was only marginally aware of what his aunt was saying. It wasn't until he felt himself being thrown with all her might that things begin to make sense. He landed some feet away on the hard road, his body much hotter than it had any right to be. His aunt intended to die and for him to flee while that thing devoured her. As Harry watched the monster heal itself (rising from all fours to stumble along on its hindlegs as if to mock the incredible risk Petunia had taken) the heat in him only grew. Not even minutes ago this monster was a twisted heap of bone and meat yet he still came at them. Meanwhile Harry couldn't even catch his breath. What sort of wizard was so pathetic?

Indignation saw him rise to his feet but then fatigue forced him down to one knee. It was not an unfamiliar situation for Harry. Many times when he and Camellia snuck off to explore his magic Harry had worked himself into equally weak states. No amount of heavy breathing would cure this and there was no Camellia to lean on as they trekked back home. There was Petunia who could not move, who had resigned herself to death.

"No! Damn you, no!" Harry's eyes focused on his aunt. He'd expected some gruesome visage that would scar him for the rest of his life (however little might be left of it.) Instead Harry saw the monster casually move past his aunt and continue towards him. There was no mistaking the sound Greyback made as he did. It wasn't between anything. Greyback was laughing- laughing no different than a human would. "You bloody fucking freak!" (Petunia was so eloquent at times.)

Because he could do nothing else, Harry watched the creature approach. Its legs look healed yet Greyback continued at a snail's pace. The wolfman's eyes met Harry's. Looking into those grey wells told Harry everything he needed to know. Greyback intended for him to run. This wolf was no predator. Predators were cowardly, efficient things, that wanted as little fight in their quarry as possible. So too did Harry realize he was not without hope because of this. The abnormal heat he was feeling was not dissimilar from the feeling of weightlessness that had preceded his telekinesis. It must be some other power- some other _magic_ he can call upon. And if this wolf wanted to toy with him than he had time enough to finesse a miracle.

Just like in Camellia's comic books.

Harry envisioned the heat inside him as if it were a tangible thing he could manipulate. He pulled it up from his extremities and tried to place it out into the world. His magic took physical shape beginning first as an amorphous blob of red and then coalescing into a small sphere. The surface shifted like the ebb and flow of tides. Greyback stared at it. His marble eyes widened, as much as any beast's can, and he drew his arm up. But then Harry collapsed, the ball transitioned back into an amorphous blob and then back into nothingness, and the fear Greyback felt vanished. The monster growled. Trees shook, windows, rattled, even the moon fled into the suddenly overcast sky. Greyback's massive maw opened wide ready to swallow Harry.

A shoe hit him. Petunia was now lobbing hers at him. Greyback's laugh returned to him. There was still some fun to be had. What an interesting night. He offered up his chin to whatever Petunia would throw next. And then a shotgun slug hit him in the face. There wasn't much blood. The blow knocked Greyback's head to the side but beyond that there was little damage. Everyone, except Harry who was still barely supporting his own weight even on all fours, turned to see someone in full armor brandishing an odd-looking shotgun (there were three barrels to it! How would you even fire from them all? Did each need to be loaded separately? How would sights even work? And why was this damned fool waving it? If Petunia weren't in such a fragile emotional state she'd laugh madder than the wolfman could.)

"Aye, you great big ugly bastard! You like the feel of that?" The answer to Mrs Figgs' question was 'no, obviously not' but she asked it just the same. Greyback roared. Somehow this caused the air around Mrs Figgs to crackle. Symbols appeared all over her armor glowing white and then purple. "Nah, that won't work on me, princess. Here's another treat for you!" She pulled the trigger embedding another slug into Greyback. His howl this time contained a hint of shock and confusion as the two projectiles began to glow. Figgs fired once more emptying the third barrel. There were three glowing slugs in him now. Greyback picked them furiously but they refused to budge. "Some monster you are. Did a muggle and untrained wizard really take this much out of you?" Mrs Figgs smacked the butt of her weapon. The glowing stopped and the back ends of each slug opened. "You had my friends working themselves into a frenzy when they smelled you. At least the house'll be calm when you're dead." She hit her weapon again.

Blood shot out of each slug turning Greyback's once beautiful coat into a red matted mess. There was so much of it when his body collapsed there was an audible splash. Mrs Figgs laughed. She looked from the wolfman to Harry. "Tufty, Paws, get over to the boy." From seemingly nowhere two of the most hideous cats you could imagine appeared by Mrs Figgs feet. They hesitated, earning them a light kick from their mistress. "I didn't stutter, did I! What's got you nancies in such a fright?" Greyback. Greyback had them in such a fright. Being part kneazle had gifted Mr Tufty and Mrs Paws with the sort of extra sensory perception only horror movie goers normally have. They knew Greyback was alive but lacked the means to communicate with their mistress. They could only snarl and hiss and hope she kept her weapon trained on the monster.

She didn't. Their inaction had led to Mrs Figgs glancing down and that was all the window Greyback needed. He threw himself at her. Because of his magic, Greyback hadn't even needed the use of his legs. His prone body simply lifted itself off the ground and then hurled itself at his would-be slayer. To Petunia it sounded like church bells but to Mrs Figgs it sounded more like an excuse to drink later. She looked up at the wolf pinning her left arm to the ground. Fur had forced itself into her enchanted shotgun slugs stopping the blood flow. Aside from being a disgusting sight (imagine the hair on your head animating itself to plug a hold in your cheek) it also was not the sort of thing Mrs Figgs prepared for. Nor did she really anticipate this werewolf having the presence of mind to identify the runes on her suit of armor and try to claw through them.

Really this looked a bit out of her weight class if she were totally honest with herself. Still, there were always contingencies to fall back on. And there was that question of a monster hunter's personal pride. Wizards may have made her weapons but she was the one who fielded them night after night. A pointed blade formed over the knuckle of her right hand. It's silver sheen turned scarlet after she plunged it into Greyback's side. He howled, in pain this time. Forgetting the runes and his own higher brain function Greyback took hold of Mrs Figgs' head (as best he could with an unwieldly helmet covering it) and slammed it into the ground. However much this may have dazed Mrs Figgs and however much it might help Greyback vent, the attack did not dislodge the silver blade from his side. It stayed firmly in place driving the wolfman madder and madder.

While it would never make it onto the Department of Magical Law Enforcement: Werewolf Capture Unit's report, it was anger that ultimately killed Greyback. With his reason gone he forgot Mrs Figgs was not the only threat to him. Harry Potter was still breathing and while exhausted, he was not to be deterred. The reason his previous attack had failed, Harry reasoned, was because he tried to manifest it outside himself. Maintaining shape and mass was simply too taxing for him. If, on the other hand, he simply willed that same magic around a body part, say his hands, then he wouldn't need to worry about corporeality. The magic would conform to his own body. A sketchy bit of reasoning but tonight was the night of miracles so Harry's magic did coalesce as he expected it to.

Greyback smelled burning flesh. The sweet smell made his mouth water and forget the pain in his side. He raised his head. Something was coming towards him. Something hot. Harry's hand. They were covered in the same red the ball had been. And now they were on top of Greyback's head. The pungent stench of burning fur and polyester filled the air. The three odors were odious enough to revive Mrs Figgs who was now treated to the sight of Greyback's final moments. His eyes popped as the rapidly evaporating liquid broke free of its shell. There was little blood. What little skin there was over his forehead was soon charred beyond any recognition becoming black flakes that snapped off. The bone soon too became too hot for Greyback's brain causing first the frontal lobes to boil and cook and then the rest of the spongey organ. His body still twitched. The electrical pulses running through the machinery were no longer sure what to do with themselves.

Everything else failed in time including whatever charm had held Petunia in place. She rushed to Harry and withdrew him from atop the dead wolfman's body. His hands were horrifically burned. To her it looked as if there was no meat to them left and it was just blackened bits of bone poking out from underneath his coat. "Harry," she sobbed. Her nephew was not moving and his breathing was shallow. He was no longer even sweating.

"Devil take it all," Mrs Figgs swore. She flung Greyback's corpse off herself and tried to stand but could only make it to one knee. Her feet weren't entirely under her, as the boxers like to say. A black cat, less ugly than the others (still not something you'd like to pet) appeared on her shoulder. She glanced at it and seemed to take heart. "Petunia, listen. Some wizards are going to apparate here any moment. They don't know anything about me or that other stuff Albus told you about. Don't mention I was here. They'll take you to a hospital and ask some questions. One of our wizards will contact you there. It'll probably be a tall black man by the name of Shacklebot or a crazy nutter by the name of Moody. Don't know who else they could send. Camellia's fine. A wizard named Bill Weasley will stay with her tonight. Harry will be fine, I promise. And I'm sorry I didn't just come out and tell you. I'll give Albus an earful for you and you can give me one later. We'll make an evening out of it and all have a cuppa afterwards."

Petunia blinked. " _Mrs Figgs?!_ " she said her voice rising higher than was normal. There was a small chuckle from inside the suit and then it vanished and the three cats vanished. Petunia was seemingly left alone with her injured nephew and a werewolf's corpse. The ruined car was also there but not nearly close enough to qualify as part of the macabre scene.

Three loud pops announced the arrival of the wizards Mrs Figgs had predicted. All three were men in their early to mid-thirties and had their wands at the ready. They wore black cloaks that reached all the way to their boots. To Petunia it seemed as if there was a deliberate air of intimidation to them. "Merlin's left nut," the tallest said. "What the hell happened?" He directed his question at no one and so no one answered. Petunia stared at them for a moment before she found her voice.

"Please help my nephew!" she shouted.

One of the wizards waved his wand in the air. All the streetlights suddenly dimmed but to Petunia there seemed to be no difference in visibility. "I think it's a muggle, Helmsley," he said to the tallest of their group. "We're going to need obliviators after all."

Petunia bit back a scream. "I know about magic!" All three men jumped and looked at her. "My nephew is a wizard. I'm his guardian. He damned near killed himself fighting that- that thing! He needs a hospital!" It proved to be too difficult to keep her emotions in check. This had been a very stressful night for Petunia and it was only fair she pay it forward. "Stop fucking staring and help!" The tall wizard (Helmsley) sprang to life, bounding over to unconscious boy in four long steps. He passed his wand over Harry's hands before recoiling in shock.

"What exactly did your boy do, Mrs-"

"Dursley. And like I said, he fought off that monster."

"Yes but how-"

"I don't know! With magic. My sister was the witch, not me." Petunia wondered how the wizarding world handled non-magical folks who managed to throttle the life out of a slow to act wizard. Perhaps it was the sort of legal quagmire where she'd just be left alone by the courts. "Can you please help."

"Y-yes." Helmsley cleared his throat as if to reclaim his authoritative air. "I've placed a Cooling Charm over the boy so the burns won't get worse. Aside from his… hands it looks like a bad case of Magical Exhaustion. Not fatal but certainly nothing to be taken lightly of course. We'll get him to St Mungo's right away, ma'am. I've a Restorative Draught- we carry the stuff to all our potentially hazardous assignments- here on my belt the boy should take. It won't heal him fully but it'll help his hands and give him some much needed energy. May I- uh- ask his name?"

"Harry," Petunia answered as she held the potion to Harry's lips. "Harry Potter."

The three wizards exchanged looks. One, Hunter, who'd walked over to Greyback's corpse and performed several strange incantations coughed. "That'll explain this then," he mumbled.

"What?" Helmsley was still crouching beside Petunia and now more determined than ever to seem in control. "Out with it, lad. Can't you see, Harry Potter's lying here hurt."

"Well, sir, it's- well it's Fenrir Greyback."

"What's that blight got to do with anything?"

"That's what he called himself before he transformed." It was Petunia who spoke and now all eyes were on her again. She didn't look up to meet them. Nor would she until Harry finished the tonic in her hand. "Sounded like a damn stupid name," she spat.

Helmsley was standing. He felt a surge of energy and crouching would hardly get rid of it all. "That's why we kept losing the bastard. Ma'am, Greyback- that monster's vexed the whole department for decades now and your boy- _Harry Potter_ shows up and cooks him."

"Lovely," Petunia said finally looking up. "We'll get a little trophy to go with the newspaper clippings. Can we go to the hospital now?"

"Yes, of course." The very much in charge Helmsley turned to his subordinates. "Hunter, Hearse, take that bloody thing down to the Dangerous Creatures Ward. I'll be taking Mrs Dursley and Mr Potter to the DMLE floor. Don't think there'll be any objections given the circumstances. Mrs Dursley if you could hand me Mr Potter…" She did. "Yes, thank you, now be sure to hold on to me." Three loud pops and the streets were once again empty wizards.

"What a bunch of knobs," a disembodied voice said. A cat meorwed in agreement. "They won't let Squibs like me hunt nasties but oh sure let's give a badge to every pillock who managed an E on his Defense Against the Dark Arts OWLS. Come on, let's get home. My head's ringing and I'm sure Albus will want a word. In any case, I need someone to patch up this suit."

* * *

"Your mum's fine, love," the wizard said. "A few scrapes but nothing a night of rest won't cure. Harry- he…" Camellia's heart sank. "He got hurt pretty bad. Now the bad news is he'll be laid up in St Mungo's for a few days. Do you wanna know the good news?" The little girl nodded. The wizard smiled. "Your cousin stopped a very dangerous, very powerful werewolf tonight. One that-" Camellia had started hopping up and down a broad grin on her face. "One that- Hey, love I'll need you to settle down a bit, eh?" He didn't expect her too. It was rather nice seeing the girl look so happy. The sight reminded him of his own little sister and how excitable good news made her.

"I'm so sorry, sir," Camellia said looking somewhat sheepish.

"Nothing to apologize for. And my name is Bill. Bill Weasley." Bill held out his hand. It was a large, coarse thing, clearly used to elements. A bit like the sort Camellia imagined stevedores had back in the age of sail. She took it and immediately felt a reassurance she couldn't put into words. There was so much Camellia feared she might cry. "Go on, love. Don't let me stop you," Bill said in that voice that sounded too low and too rich to belong to a freckled man with a mohawk. But huddled up against his chest, with his heartbeat against her eardrum, Camellia realized it'd been a silly thought for her to have,

And then she had a good long cry, getting tears all over Bill's tunic. "You're a brave girl. Going on to get Arabella probably saved your mum and your cousin. Damn brave."

"Thank you, Mr Weasley," Camellia said.

"Call me Bill." He stroked her hair until the sobbing stopped and then he patted her shoulder. "This house is a bit bloody cold, eh?" Camellia nodded roughly Bill's tunic further. "Let's fix that shall we." She didn't see what he did but suddenly it was far too warm for her coat and the floor no longer felt like dry ice. "That's better. Where's your kitchen. I'll make you a little snack and then you can lay yourself down and sleep. Unless you'd rather stay up and wait for your mum. We can… is it called a tele?"

Camellia giggled. "Yes but there's nothing on right now. I have some VHS tapes we can watch."

"What's a 'vee haych ess tape?' Oh it's an acronym now, isn't it?"

Camellia stepped back from Bill. She stared in open disbelief at his inquisitive face. "Do you really not know?" He shook his head. "Do wizards not have movies or VCRs or radios?"

"We got radios," Bill confirmed. He stood up and waved his wand over the front his tunic. The tears disappeared leaving the cloth perfectly fresh. "But no, no movies." Camellia stared in horror. "For the best, really. Only wizards I've seen who can act came out of Greece."

"So what do wizards do all day?"

"Show me your kitchen and we can have it out over a meal." Bill winked at the young girl.

"Mother says, I'm not to eat this late."

"Then we won't tell her," Bill said with a shrug.

A half hour later and the pair was sat in front of the television, sandwiches firmly in hand. Bill nibbled his while Camellia worfed hers down. In all the excitement, the poor girl had forgotten dinner had been totally skipped. Thankfully here was an opportunity to make up for it.

"So, does he actually touch them before they explode?" Bill asked.

Camellia nodded furiously. "It's his secret martial art. The _Hakuto Shinken_. He hits pressure points on your body which cause your ki and blood to jam up so your arteries explode."

"And he's got to say it every time, does he?" Bill nodded. "Bit like magic then. Wizards got to practice to get silent spells right. More trouble than it's worth for some."

"How come?" Camellia half turned away from the show. "How come wizards don't all learn silent spells, I mean."

"Not a lot of jobs call for it. And it's bloody hard to get the same sort of… power level, I guess you'd say, without the incantation." A half nude woman was crouching behind Kenshiro on the television. One of the villains looked at her with a lewd face. "Oy, the baddies in this aren't the sort you'd let near your sister, are they?"

"No. But Ken always makes them pay in the end!" Camellia reached for another sandwich. "So, what do you, Bill?" she asked.

"I'm still in school to tell you the truth- got a couple months left before graduation- but I'm hoping to do curse breaking for Gringotts. That's a bank," he explained. "Mostly it means I'd go into old tombs, undue ancient curses, and maybe put down nasty spirits. That sort of thing." Bill now had Camellia's full attention. The small girl had sat up and was leaning in until she was almost on top of the wizard. Bill had to scoot over to create some space.

"That's sick!"

Bill smiled. "Like that, do you? Makes two of us. Da'- well Da's not real big on the whole profession. Says to let sleeping ghosts rest and all that. Mum thinks I'm outright mad. Tells me with my grades I should be a healer ." The wizard leaned back and sighed. "They're both more right than wrong. Still it's my life, innit? Gotta make some mistakes."

"What does Mrs Figgs do?" The question seemed a extension of the night.

"Arabella? She doesn't rightly have an actual job, see. Hunting werewolves and other beasties was outlawed by the Ministry almost six years ago. After You-Know-Who fell, well there wasn't any need for them." Bill scratched his chin. "Don't know if I buy that but it's what got printed on all the papers."

The next question almost floored Bill. In hindsight, he should have surmised the situation would be a little complicated. But for some reason he hadn't seen the warning signs. Perhaps it was his gratitude towards the headmaster for rescuing him from Professor Snape. (Head Boy or no, Severus Snape was not going to forgive a Gryffindor "working to better unity between the Houses" with one of his sixth year Slytherins.) Or maybe he just liked to think most parents were like his.

"Who's 'You-Know-Who?'"

There wasn't much for Bill to do but chew on his food and swallow. "How much has your mum told you about the wizarding world?" Camellia didn't answer which told him what he needed to know. "Alright. There was this evil wizard. Called himself The Dark Lord. Don't know if he really was or not but… he was bloody powerful. The whole wizarding world was under a dark shadow. Families would be murdered in the dead of night and there wouldn't be a trace of them come morning. There weren't a whole lot of safe spaces then. Hogwarts, that's the school I go, was one. So was Beauxbatons down in France. Maybe some bits of North Africa too." Bill stopped speaking. On the television screen a man's head had exploded moments after he'd begged for his life. "Was a bit like that actually. Even Aurors doing things they shouldn't. See, you couldn't trust your family would be there at day's end. For a lot of people, they weren't. Sort of thing that makes you think things you shouldn't, like my Da' says." He stopped again. Kenshiro let another villain know death was coming.

"Bill?"

"Aye?"

"What's an Auror?"

"They hunt dark wizards and monsters. Anyway," Bill continued. "He decided he'd kill your aunt and uncle. Harry's parents. Then he turned his wand on Harry and his spell rebounded. Took out the whole house. I dunno if he's really dead. I know enough about magic to know people like that have a way of clinging to this world. But all his charms were broken. Curses he'd put in place to terrorize anyone fool enough to challenge him vanished. For eight years now there hasn't been a trace of his magic and his army fell apart without it. All thanks to Harry Potter."

Camellia felt her heart swelling in her chest. This was something she'd always known. Despite her father's derision and her mother's stern looks, inside in that same place that told you to fear fire and dark corners, Camellia had always known Harry was special. She wondered what she would mean to his life going forward. If they'd stay as close as they are now or if he'd drift away. Whatever the case Camellia hoped she could always be there in some way. After all, he was her cousin and she loved him.

* * *

 _For those curious, Arabella will explain in the next chapter why she didnt just go with silver bullets. I'm not going to call it a good reason. It's her reason and you can feel free to judge._

 _I've bumped up everyone's power in the wizarding world. I realize that made this chapter a bit shounen anime-esque but I think Harry Potter lends itself easily to that genre._

 _I'm pretty sure this is before English subs of Fist of the North Star were available. If not, yay me. Otherwise, let's go with artistic lisense._

 _Thank you for reading. Please leave a review. Whether it's to tell me Mrs Figgs in armor was stupid or to ask my opinions on the New York Yankees, I'm happy to get them._


	3. A Great Many Postcards

_I meant to have this chapter up more than a month ago. Unfortunately life decided that wasn't going to happen._

 _Disclaimer- I do not own Harry Potter. JK Rowling does (obviously)_

* * *

The fight with Fenrir Greyback earned Harry a lengthy hospital stay, at least by wizarding standards. A stout woman who identified herself as Healer Kaepner had taken one look at him and told Petunia the week would be over by the time the boy could return home. And while Petunia was… happy is the wrong word but certainly _grateful_ Harry was now in a hospital, the enclosed space did not give her room enough to escape Helmsley or his two subordinates. Once they'd deposited Greyback's corpse at whatever qualified as an autopsy table here, the pair had gone straight to Harry's room, parking themselves on either side of Petunia and their boss.

A little background.

St Mongos is wizarding England's finest medical facility and its third oldest institution. Inside were enough beds to provide for almost a thousand wizards at once. Whatever the calamity, St Mongos would be more than equipped to handle it. Why, certain rooms could even provide automatic care thanks to the various enchantments kept running year-round. That tally, by the way, did not include the wards specifically reserved for Magical Law Enforcement officers. So important was the wellbeing of DMLE personnel, Hit Wizards had their own marked beds with each wizard's medical record on hand. There were beds for patrol officers like Helmsley and his men and for the Auror Corps as well, but as the former was not exclusively called upon to handle extremely dangerous situations and the later could tend to each other's wounds effectively, there was no need for marked beds.

Helmsley also shared a great many other facts Petunia was determined to forget as soon as the night was over.

A thin hospital sheet ran across the center of the room giving the small boy some privacy. There were four healers with them now, three more having materialized not long after Harry's name had been mentioned. The slight deference in the healers' voices gave Petunia a very pleasant feeling in her chest. It was the same feeling that filled her whenever she slipped the names of her husband's business partners to the other women of Privet Drive over tea.

"Normally this sort of thing is handled by the Werewolf Capture Unit- they're with the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures- but Hunter here received an anonymous tip of some odd magic over in Surrey." Helmsley chortled as if preparing to share a joke. "Apparently, some witch was out flying when she spotted the commotion. The lad was playing with this ladybug we've adopted as a sort of pet for the office so he almost missed the call."

"Seemed a bit batty," mumbled Hunter. He kept stealing glances over at the curtain as if hoping to catch a glimpse of Harry. "Flying in this weather. Honestly! Half thought she'd made it all up."

"Oh you know women that age. All hot and bothered in the middle of the night no matter how cold it is. No offense, Mrs Dursley," he added with a wink. Petunia dug the nail of her thumb into her forefinger and tried to smile.

"Mrs Dursley?" The very pale witch Petunia surmised was responsible for the floor appeared from behind the partition. "I have a few questions…"

"Oh yes. Mr Helmsley, if you'll excuse me." The ridiculous man mumbled something or other. Petunia wasn't entirely sure. She was too preoccupied being grateful to have any amount of distance between them. "Yes, Healer-?"

"Kaepner. Same as my aunt." This paler Kaepner jerked her head towards the stout woman. "She only came into the field a few years ago. And I'd prefer you call me Olivia."

Petunia smiled her housewife best. "Then I must insist you call me Petunia."

"Well then, Petunia, I have some fabulous news." Were Petunia not such a seasoned veteran of neighborhood potlucks her face might have fallen. No one ever gave 'fabulous' news except to lessen some other blow. "Mr Potter -er- Harry will be perfectly fine. We were afraid the werewolf might have passed on his lycanthropy but there doesn't seem any trace of the curse in him. Except for his hands, all that's really wrong is a bad case of magical exhaustion. Not only did Harry burn through a lot of energy it doesn't look like he had much to begin with. What has he been eating?"

"Not much I'm afraid," Petunia said with a small sigh. "The boy has no appetite. All he took for breakfast was a slice of toast and a single egg. I… can't say what he had at school, but I can't imagine it was very much."

Olivia nodded. She looked past Petunia to the three DMLE officers seated at the far end of the room. "I take it none of you had dinner then," Olivia asked. Petunia raised an eyebrow. "There's nothing in the boy's stomach."

Warning signals went off in the back of Petunia's mind. The sort that followed a traffic stop or that time Vernon had questioned why she seemed so harried after meeting with Camellia's music instructor late into the evening. Petunia considered how best to continue. There would be a lot riding on her next few words. Abandoning her smile and upright posture she let her shoulders slouch. Every wrinkle on Petunia's face was now outlined. She hoped it would make her look a few years older. "We fought," she said looking the pale women in the eye. "I found him giving my daughter Camellia sweets. She's overweight and her doctor has been on me to get her on a diet. We both yelled and then his magic burst out. I hit my head on the far wall and shouted some cruel things. He ran out after that. Jumped clean out of the window. Didn't even bother with his coat…"

"Winter cold. No protective garments. No food in his system. It fits…" Olivia tapped her clipboard. There was something Petunia knew the healer needed to ask. It was the obvious question in this sort of situation. "Do you love your nephew, Petunia?"

This time Petunia knew she looked much older than she really was. Her eyes became hard, almost glassy, and totally without vigor. She looked to her nephew laid out on a bed surrounded by prodding sorcerers. "He's the only thing left of my sister. And I'm the only blood he has left. I don't think love has anything to do with it." Kaepner fixed her with a shrewd stare. A full minute passed, too long for the women to remain silent. Helmsley wandered over.

"Everything fine here, ladies?" He had a smile as fake as Petunia's. Ridiculous as he might be, there still seemed to be some real instincts to the man.

"Just going over some of Harry's medical history," answered Kaepner. "I'm sorry, Mr Helmsley, but I'm not comfortable discussing that sort of thing with someone who isn't close kin." She looked apologetically up at the man. He laughed.

"Oh don't fret about. I was just a trifle curious. But you know…" Helmsley turned to look at Hunter who held a piece of parchment in his hands. "There's a few things I think you could help me with, Mrs Dursley. If Healer Kaepner doesn't have any more questions, of course." He didn't wait for the two women to answer before he stepped into the space between them. "The gentleman who's been having a look at Greyback noticed something very peculiar. Silver poisoning. You wouldn't happen to have struck the werewolf with anything silver perchance?"

"I had a kitchen knife with me. Silverware. I hate to leave the house alone- and so late! So I…brought it with me. I don't recall stabbing-" Petunia bit her nail as if deep in thought. "I tackled him while he was still in his human form. It must have happened then."

"Oh yes, you mentioned that. So, you recognized him, did you?" Every second that passed made Petunia hate his smile more and more. She began to reevaluate the information he'd shared with her earlier. "That he was a werewolf."

"Well, of course." Petunia spoke as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "You didn't see him. He had… fangs and hair everywhere. What was I supposed to think of a nude man making advances towards my nephew during a full moon?"

"I'm just a little confused, Mrs Dursley as to how you'd know a werewolf in the first place."

"Lily- my sister and I liked to look through her school books during the holidays." Petunia made a show of squaring her shoulders and looking about the room. If only she had a purse to clutch. "I may not be able to do magic but that doesn't mean I wanted to be blind to the dangers around me. Where-where is all this leading, Mr Helmsley?"

The ridiculous man dropped his friendly demeanor and finally started looking like a law enforcement agent. "Mrs Durlsey, I'm afraid you could not have stabbed Greyback while he was human. The silver poisoning was localized around the wound. It hadn't even set in properly before Greyback's heart stopped. Now you told us earlier you rammed one of those muggle carriages into him? He was, according to you, a broken mess afterwards, correct?"

Petunia looked frantically at Kaepner and was pleased to see the woman staring daggers at Helmsley. A few more pushes then. "Well yes. I was trying to save Harry. I was- I was acting on-"

"Instinct?" Helmsley offered with a smile on his lips. "Mrs Dursley, you've very strong instincts for a housewife. And a muggle one at that. I suppose it's all those summers spent reading your sister's books."

"What are you implying? Olivia, what is he implying?"

"Mrs Dursley, if Greyback had been stabbed before the carriage struck him, why did the silver poisoning not spread further? His heartrate would have been sky high and his magic too distracted mending his bones to keep the poisoning in check. So much of your story seems like only half the truth. It does not explain why the trace amounts of silver in Greyback were identical to those found in the remains of two other notorious werewolves. Both killed in southern England in past two years. Or how he received those three puncture wounds. Hunter." At the mention of his name, the wizard stood and slowly made his way to the group. He held out the parchment for Helmsley to take. "We have a very efficient department, Mrs Dursley. The same team handles almost every instance of a dead dangerous creature and catalogues all their findings. This is the profile for an unlicensed hunter operating out of the south of England. 'Resourceful.' 'Quick on their feet.' 'Prefers bleeding out the target over more traditional methods.' 'Very knowledgeable of the wizarding world.' Sound familiar?"

"You're mad! I have three other knives like that at home. You- you could go into any muggle store and likely buy one made in exactly the same way. That's how we muggles" (Gods but did she hate that word. Unfortunately, 'normal people' might not fly well in present company.) "make things. Assembly lines. Mass production. There's whole fields devoted to making sure a knife in England is the same as one in- in Germany!"

"Mrs Dursley, the Ministry does not take kindly to this sort of vigilantism. There are stiff penalties and muggle or no-"

"Now see here!" Every eye turned to see the stout Kaepner half stomping up to Helmsley. The other healers took a step back and only her niece, the pale Kaepner, looked pleased. "I don't know what you're trying to pull. It may have been a few years since I was an Auror, but I don't remember having free reign to harass women in hospital rooms. And since when are patrollers the ones who handle this sort of thing?"

Helmsley, who had shrunk back slightly, found his voice. "I'm sorry but you're no longer with the DMLE and so have no authority here. My men contacted the Investigation Department and an Auror is on his way. In fact they were on their way before we even placed the call. It seems someone else shares my misgivings about all this."

The stout Kaepner's nostrils flared. She was about to give voice to a long tirade on the wretched state of things when there was a knock at the door. She turned from Helmsley to her niece who nodded slowly. With one last angry glare she walked to the door and opened it. "Yes- Kinglsey!" A tall black man who, to Petunia, looked straight out of Arabian Nights, stepped into the room. He wore long blue robes that parted in the middle revealing a purple vest and a necklace of wooden beads. His face softened briefly as he shared a smile with the elder Kaepner but then he turned to the rest of the room and whatever kindness he'd allowed himself was gone. His eyes had the faraway look of someone too used to violence. He could not have been older than forty.

Petunia didn't wait for anything to be said. She let out her best indignant shriek. "You can't just take me away! I don't know anything about this mysterious hunter you're looking for. I was just out looking for my nephew when that monster attacked." It may have been just a little thick. "My- my lawyer will hear of this!" At that Kingsley raised his eyebrows and Petunia wondered if she should try the man's patience. She decided she should. Being threatened with arrest was not the sort of thing she'd let go of easily. She shook an angry finger at Shacklebolt. "I will not just keel over, mark my words. I am an English citizen!"

"Mrs Dursley," Shacklebolt said. He spoke in a slow authoritative tone, like men accustomed to giving orders often did. "You are not being arrested. Mr Helmsley, the Auror's office has been watching the Dursley family ever since the attack on Alice and Frank Longbottom. From afar, of course," he said looking to Petunia. "Only enough to gauge where you are. The privacy of your home has not been disturbed. Anything more would have required Ministry action." Shacklebolt turned back to Helmsley. "Were Mrs Dursley an unlicensed hunter we would know. Mr Helmsley, you and your men are relieved. I will be assuming responsibility for this case. I would like your report on my desk by start of business tomorrow." He paused again. "You have shown good initiative. Well done."

The two junior patrol officers looked from their superior to Shacklebolt and then back to their superior. Helmsley cleared his throat. "We can, of course, brief you now, sir. There are some-"

"That will not be necessary. I am certain your report will say enough. As I said, you stand relieved." Petunia loved polite ways of telling others to fuck off. She watched the three patrol officers exit the room. And then she watched Hunter sheepishly return to awkwardly close the door behind them. "Mrs Dursley will you please have a seat. I realize this has been a very trying evening for you." There was a definite edge in his voice. Fortunately, she doubted anything Shacklebolt asked her would make it onto an official report. " _Katasigázo̱_ ," Shacklebolt said waving in front of them as he spoke. A stream of blue and silver wisps fell around the two of them. "The smoke is so the healers know not to disturb us. Now… no lines. What happened tonight?"

"I… found out Harry and my daughter had been experimenting with his magic… Vernon and I had hoped to raise him normal so I didn't take it well." Petunia spoke without shame or guilt and Shacklebolt watched her with a totally impassive face. "I also realized you people have been watching us through Mrs Figgs. As I'd left my daughter alone with her more than once that didn't do any favors for my mood either. I sat and I stewed and when Harry came home I smacked him. Then he threw me into the wall and jumped out the window." Petunia leaned in until their faces almost touched. He smelled like oddly like rosemary but not the sort you'd find in perfumes. Almost as if he worked directly with the fragrant herb. "You're lucky I ran after him. You're lucky this whole cloak and dagger game didn't blow up in your face. But then again I'd be the one all the papers would come after."

Unlike nonmagical hospitals there was no steady hum of instruments. The room was perfectly still except for the whispering of healers and Petunia's own heartbeat. It flailed against the confines of her chest. There was so much more that needed to be said. "I didn't ask for the boy. That letter said I needed to take him in so I did. I have fed him. I have allowed him to befriend my daughter. I have done exactly as you have asked and you spy on me! Feed me nonsensical stories to scare me like I'm some child."

"Are you finished?" No, she wasn't but it didn't look as if Shacklebolt cared. He carried on. "We were led to believe your family has a strong disdain for magic. Some of my own observations confirmed that. For example, you were not at Lily's funeral." It would have been a good place to stop and let the silence speak for itself but Shacklebolt didn't. Petunia wasn't the only one who had things they needed to say. "Because of this it was decided to preserve as much of your family's autonomy as-"

"Don't talk down to me!" Petunia's nails dug into her palms. "This is as much your fault as mine!"

"This is how I talk when I am trying not to lose control." His teeth weren't clenched but they might as well have been. He spoke through nearly shut lips and his eyes were anything but friendly. They held each other's gaze before they both turned to look at Harry. The hospital sheet had been drawn back and the healers begun to file out of the room. Only the two Kaepners remained, the youngest seemingly trying to calm her aunt. "There are a lot of wizards out there who question the sanity of leaving Harry in the hands of… non-magical folk. In the years since the fall of the Dark Lord many wizards have fallen back on old ideas. Without a definitive evil, everyone is looking to make amends with friends and family that were on the wrong side of the war. The wizarding world is at a point where it could just as easily enact everything the Death Eaters wanted through legal channels. Do you have any idea what might happen if Harry's home condition became public knowledge?"

Now there was silence. Petunia had to reevaluate the type of story she found herself in and Shacklebolt had to wrestle down a more accusatory rant. "Myself and another will watch over Harry tonight." Neither really knew where to go from there so Shacklebolt stood up, breaking the spell. "Mrs Dursley, if you are ready one of our cadets will take you home. I am afraid I still have some business here."

Petunia rose to her feet. "Olivia," she said to the younger of the two Kaepners. "will it be alright if I bring my daughter tomorrow? She was worried sick when Harry ran off and I doubt she'll be able to focus on school until she's seen him with her own eyes."

"Of course. The hard part's over but, you should know, he might not be lucid for another day or so. It might worry her more to see him like this." Olivia's tone was friendlier than before. It was enough to earn an honest smile from Petunia.

"Thank you, Olivia. What are visiting hours for this floor?" Out of all the things that could have hung up the conversation Petunia did not think this would be it. Olivia stared at her blankly.

"Visiting hours?" the witch repeated back.

There was a chuckle from Shacklebolt. "Non-magical hospitals have strict visitation rules. Family and friends are only permitted during specific hours of the day. Whatever the patient's condition," he added.

The two Kaepners were scandalized. Olivia opened and closed her mouth several times. She didn't manage a single word despite her efforts. Her aunt had to be the one to reply. "You can come and go as you please!" she said. "Unless Harry takes a turn for the worse we wouldn't dare bar you from seeing him. _Merlin!_ He's your nephew! We'll be on shift until noon."

Petunia almost laughed. "Oh that's wonderful news. I'll be here at ten. A quarter past at most. Thank you both so much." And she meant it. Not for all the reasons others would approve of but Petunia was definitely grateful for the two women. She looked at Harry. "Good bye, Harry. I'm sorry for… everything." She meant that too.

Outside, in the hall, a tall balding man in worn but respectable robes (if wizard robes could be described as such) was speaking to a young man scarcely more than nineteen. The teen wore blue robes that did little to hide the size of his stomach but he didn't seem to mind. In fact, he patted it appreciatively as he laughed. The balding man must have said something funny. Shacklebolt had to clear his voice to get their attention.

"Cadet Collins," he said looking the young wizard over. "This is Mrs Dursley, your charge for the night. You will take her to her home and bring her back to this hospital tomorrow. Mrs Dursley will be travelling with her daughter, a young girl Mr Potter's age."

"Yes, Auror Shacklebolt." Collins adopted the sort of expression Petunia had seen in war films. It looked equal parts ridiculous and forced on him. "What time will we be leaving, Mrs Dursley?"

"I'm hoping to be here by ten."

"You will be arriving thirty minutes prior."

"Of course, sir." The young man nodded his head to his superior. "Auror Cadet Rhys Collins, ma'am," he said looking back to Petunia.

"Arthur Weasley," interrupted the balding man. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs Dursley. Thank you for looking after Harry all these years." He had an earnest smile and face. It made Petunia self-conscious in the way Lily used to. She didn't want to take his hand. She knew it'd be too warm and welcoming. Arthur seemed to notice, so kept it at his side. "I work at the Ministry. Department for Misuse of Muggle Artifacts. We do a bit of work with everyone. Wizards- well I don't mean to badmouth my fellows but they sure do like to do queer things with Muggle objects. Speaking of which, Kinglsey," the tall black wizard had an appraising look on his face. Petunia guessed the two knew each other but she couldn't divine how close they were. "I was just coming down from the Magical Maladies ward when I ran into Rhys here. I told you about how he used to mentor my oldest Bill?"

"Yes…"

"Well as it just so happens he was telling me about how the Auror Corps is woefully underinformed as to the mechanisms by which Muggle automobiles function." Shacklebolt's face fell. He stared at Arthur as if he were some fire breathing monster he'd have to wrestle over a bridge. "Good news! I've got an old Ford Anglia I've been taking apart in my shed. I've worked out what the major pieces do and would be happy to tell you anything you need to know."

"Arthur, I can barely stomach listening to wizards talk about racing brooms. This is too much…"

"It's the perfect way for me to say thank you for that lovely treatise on cauldron making you shared with me!" Not only did Arthur speak over Shackelbolt, he had an impish gleam in his eyes. "You never know what sorts of enchantments a wizard might put on one and what if your men are caught off guard not knowing the safest way to disable an engine?"

"We should go," whispered Collins to Petunia. He sounded as if he were afraid to show how much he was enjoying the situation. "If you'll follow me, Mrs Dursley." She did.

Neither spoke as they left St Mungo's. Collins because he was enjoying the thought of his superior being bored to death by another of Arthur Weasley's hobbies and Petunia because there was too much to think about. How much to tell Vernon, she pondered? It was the easiest of the questions to answer. As always Petunia would tell him the minimum. (He was happier that way.) More pressing was what to do with Mrs Figgs. Petunia depended on her for a great deal around the neighborhood. Would asserting herself over the older woman be worth the loss in convenience? No… Their relationship needn't change. In fact, this might have enriched it. Certainly, killing a dangerous monster together was the sort of thing that brought people together. According to all the books at any rate.

But then what about Harry? What would she tell him? He'd need his own room, she decided as she reappeared on Privet Drive. Perhaps that's why no one had filled it all these years. Vernon had wanted to make it into a second office but the idea fell through within the first month. Perhaps the room had known someday it would be Harry's and so it pushed away all their attempts to deny the boy was its true master. Or perhaps Petunia was tired and needed to hug her daughter very much. Her stomach rumbled. She'd had no more to eat than Harry.

The lights were on at Number Four. That was enough to tell Petunia Vernon wasn't home. He'd prefer to sit in the dark with a drink on hand for his nerves. Light shining from their windows would only let the neighbors know something was amiss at the Dursley household.

Petunia bade Collins follow her inside. The house was warm. Comfortably warm. In all his layers and layers of clothing, Collins looked as comfortable as Petunia in her cocktail dress. Magic then, Petunia thought to herself. As a final miracle for the night Petunia found herself not minding the unnaturalness. She wondered if she should have shaken that balding wizard's hand.

" _Ganzan Ryozan Ha!_ "

"What the bloody hell is that?" Petunia swore before she could stop herself. The two figures sat on the sofa snapped their heads to the side. Camellia shot up off her seat and the other waved.

"M-mummy, it's-" the girl suddenly realized she had a sandwich in her hands and tried to hide it behind her back. "It's a show, mum. Hokuto Shinken."

"Damned weird is what it is," the teen still sat on the sofa said. He stood up and stretched. Petunia watched his tunic pulled taut across his chest. "Bloke travels the world murdering every crook and rogue he meets. And he's got these eyebrows that might as well be caterpillars. Looks like the sort of thing my brother Charlie might like. Or Fred and George. Aye they'd get a right kick out of it." The teen smiled, walked up to Petunia, and offered his hand. He stood more than a head taller than her. "Bill Weasley. You've got a real brave little girl, ma'am. Half a mind to introduce her to my little sister."

"A pleasure to meet you, Bill. I believe I met your father." Petunia looked down to see her hand in his. It was large enough to cover hers completely. "Tall balding man? Goes by Arthur?"

"Ah so this is what he and mum get up to. Reckon I'll mention their odd jobs for Dumbledore if they ask about my curse breaking."

"You're really going to be a curse breaker then?" Collins laughed. "Bill, mate, how can you have so many brains but no sense in them?"

"Right rich coming from you, Rhys. How'd your mum take it when you let her know that NEWT in Defense Against Dark Arts wasn't because you wanted to be a healer?"

"Oi, oi! I'm doing this for the people, you know. You ought to be calling me a hero." The two teens laughed and Petunia saw it as the perfect opportunity to talk to Camellia.

"How's my red and white and pink flower?" she asked looking down at Camellia. The young girl's expression brightened and she jumped (sandwich and all) into her mother's arms. "Oh my little angel. I'm so sorry for worrying you tonight."

"I'm sorry, mum. It's all my fault," the girl said into her mother's shoulder.

"They were just chocolates, my dear." Petunia put her daughter down. "Now, listen. We'll be visiting Harry tomorrow so after this episode you need to be off to bed. Ok?"

"Yes, mum." The girl fidgeted in place. "Was there- was there really a werewolf?"

"Yes but he's gone now and can't hurt you." Camellia looked as if she wanted to say something to her mother but instead the girl nodded before sitting back down. She nibbled on her sandwich mindful of how lenient her mother was suddenly being. Petunia sat on the armless sofa chair beside her daughter. It was the first time she'd noticed how odd Camellia ate. The girl would barely open her mouth and then clamp her front teeth down on the bread. Then she would chew furiously before repeating the process. It was all done in very quick succession giving the impression of a squirrel nibbling on a nut. Petunia half stood, leaned over Camellia, and kissed her daughter's forehead.

Her stomach growled reminding Petunia that there was food laid out. The sandwiches were loaded up with meats and slathered in condiments, the style preferred by Vernon. Petunia doubted they would agree with her. She was, mercifully, wrong. The meat exploded against her molars as if it had been treated and prepared for hours before being served.

"This is damn wonderful!" she said to Bill's delight. Camellia giggled at her mother's sudden potty mouth but said nothing. The wizard beamed with pride while his friend openly laughed.

"Tcha! Look at you, mate! A proper housewife." Bill punched his friend in the shoulder playfully but there was still an audible thump. Collins fell back clutching it and still laughing. "Say? Where'd you find that recipe and this heating charm, Bill? Witch Weekly?" Bill punched him again and Collins' laughter grew even louder. "You did, mate! You did!"

"Rhys, can I get you something before you go?" Petunia was tired of the show.

With some effort Collins regained himself. "Thank you, Mrs Dursley, but I'd best be off." He bowed slightly. "We're only given an eight-hour block to sleep regardless of what's going on and I'm already an hour and a half into it." Petunia put down her meal and followed the teen to the door. She shook his hand (heavy and thick but not overbearing. Like Vernon's except mindful of its own strength) and waved as he disappeared into the night.

Bill was still there. He shouted a mild oath at his friend before turning his eyes on Petunia. With the light behind him and his front in shadows Bill's eyes could have been blued steel. She watched them widen in shock when she reached underneath his tunic. "Your hand's a bit cold, ma'am," he said in the same way you'd notice a new haircut. He was uncircumcised, Petunia noticed.

 _Hokuto Shinken_ ended and Camellia was put to bed. Fearing nightmares, the young girl had asked Bill to put her to sleep with his magic. He let the girl believe he had. Like his mother said, a soft voice was as good as magic if used right. Camellia fell into a lovely dream with a flying car. Harry was driving and her mother was there. Bill was too. There were others but she didn't recognize them. It was a good dream.

Bill stepped into the shower of the master bedroom. Petunia listened to the water run as she dialed _The Station Light_. Vernon wasn't home yet which meant the night's negotiations had bled into the usual place. "Yes, hello. My name is Petunia Dursley. I believe my husband Vernon Dursley is at your establishment. I… Sir, my husband likes to take prospective clients to your club to work out the finer details of their agreement. No contract is complete without lap dances and brandy, as your adverts like to boast. Why do you think I have your number? Please do not patronize me. He'll be the heavy-set man with the mustache." The man on the other side of the phone stepped away. Petunia considered laying down on her bed. Bill had a lot of work to do to make up for all the men she'd dealt with today.

"Petunia?" There was no hint of alcohol in Vernon's voice. It was clear and crisp. Petunia hoped he hadn't come off as distracted to his prospective buyers. "Petunia, dear! I phoned and no one answered. Is everything alright?"

"Everyone is fine, Vernon." She considered what to say next. The scent of shampoo filled the room. Bill hadn't closed the bathroom door. "We were attacked by a werewolf." Vernon coughed to cover up a shriek. "Harry- the boy, killed it. Burned its face clean off. He's in one of their hospitals now."

"I suppose they'll want us to pay for his stay," Vernon said in a growl Greyback would have approved of. "The boy'll pull through, won't he?"

"The boy will be fine after a day's rest. And the bills are all taken care of." The shower was off. No more water pitter pat against her porcelain tub. Petunia became distinctly aware of how quiet the faucets in her home were, as if they were afraid to be heard. "Try to enjoy your night, Vernon. And sorry for all the fuss."

"I don't blame you, Petunia," her husband said. "It's that boy. All this strangeness." He mumbled some other words Petunia was too distracted to make out. "I'll see you tomorrow night," he said more clearly. "Good-bye, dear."

"Good-bye, Vernon." Bill stepped in front of her, his body still wet. Moonlight draped itself across each bead of moisture on his skin. She could see him properly now. The whole of him was long, and firm to the touch. The sweet smells of shampoo and fragrant soap traced circles around the room. As she took it all in, Petunia sighed to herself.

The night would not be all bad.

Later, morning came waking Camellia. There was too much sunshine in the room for Camellia to sleep. The rays made her face warm and hiding underneath the bedcovers only made things worse. She left the cream car. A pity. Camellia had seen so many great things in her dream that night. Some terrible, awful things but always resplendent in their terribleness. The young girl opened her eyes. She hoped to have the dream again soon.

This made her foolish, she knew. All her comic books and shows said so. Wisdom, as told by books, was gratitude for the peaceful, mundane world we were born into. In that world, life continued unbothered by grizzly deaths and the stuff of nightmares. Camellia had never said it, certainly not to her instructors, but she always thought that thinking suspect. People died here in this world too, after all. They died here for so many reasons and so often without dignity. Like that teenage boy her teachers whispered about. He'd caught something terrible from another boy and his parents refused to have him in the house. Fungus had grown over his lips before he died…

Camellia shook the thought away. Better to see if her mother was awake than revisit those images. Still in her pajamas, Camellia hopped out of bed and made her way to her mother's room. The door was unlocked which meant she was welcome to go inside. Still she opened it slowly. (Better safe than sorry.) Camellia peaked in, saw no one, and opened the door the rest of the way. The room lacked its familiar scent. Most mornings it was heavy perfume or cologne but today there was none of either. She looked around and saw Bill's robes by the foot of her mother's bed. Camellia didn't know what it could be doing there.

An owl tapping on the bedroom's window caught the girl's attention. It was an exceptionally large barn owl (although Camellia later realized it may just have been her young mind exaggerating dimensions) carrying several rolled-up newspapers by a string tied to its feet. Equal parts confused and amazed, Camellia opened her mother's window. She watched as the owl cut the string with a talon, carefully leaving the newspapers on the pillows of Petunia's bed, and then begin pecking at Bill's robes. The bird went on furiously trying to find Bill's pockets before turning to Camellia. It hooted as if the girl could somehow give it what it wants. This, understandably, made her uncomfortable and so she shrank away from the angry bird.

"What's this?" Camellia turned her head to see her mother and Bill standing in front of the bathroom door. Bill was wearing a towel over his waist and her mother was covered by one of her bathrobes. She was staring at Camellia with wide eyes. "Oh, he just wants paying," Bill explained. He shooed the bird off his robes, retrieved a handful of strange coins and dropped them into a pouch around its head. The bird did something that to Camellia looked like a bow then flew out the window. "Morning, Camellia," Bill said. He noticed the girl's confusion and smiled. "Owls is how we wizards deliver mail."

"Your post isn't free, then?" Camellia asked.

"No. Is yours?" Camellia nodded. "Well bugger this for a pixie. How's it work then?"

"Well, we've a postman and they pick up people's letters from a central office and-"

" _Camellia, dear_ ," Petunia interrupted. She had a very forced smile on her face. "How did you get in here?"

"The door was unlocked, mum." It was the first time Camellia saw someone scream without making any noise and without changing their expression. "I-I thought it was ok since you always said to only come in if the door's not locked and-"

"It's perfectly fine, dear. It's my fault for forgetting the lock." Petunia walked up to her daughter and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Sweetheart, why don't you go and wash up? Mummsy will get breakfast ready. And because you're such a big girl, I'll let you pick your own clothes today. How does that sound?"

To Camellia it sounded great. "Thank you, Mum!" she almost shouted before bounding out of the room. Things were off to a fantastic start if she didn't say so herself. Now what to wear, Camellia considered as she looked through her clothes. She needed something that would bring a smile to Harry's face. Something imposing and dynamic. The answer came to her in a flash. A few months prior there had been a costume party and Vernon had been left in charge of finding a costume for Camellia. She still had all the pieces.

A blue long-sleeved smock with a hood. A pair of thick blue trousers. And heavy works gloves and boots. If only she had a long slim rifle to complete the look. Camellia laid out her clothes and ran to the bathroom for a quick shower. She spied Bill (still shirtless) waving his wand over her mother's hair. It dried itself before curling into the soft rolls her mother preferred. Camellia wondered if he might do the same for her before they left to see Harry. One shower and a quick change of clothes and Camellia was ready for breakfast.

Bill looked absolutely ridiculous. He wore a white apron over his tunic and a matching chef's hat that Camellia knew for a fact he'd conjured. (There was no way her mother would own such a thing.) Seeing him standing there in front of the stove, waving his wand over the skillet, Camellia half expected him to sprout a cartoonish mustache. She took her seat and watched the scene with the same smirk her mother wore. "Making pancakes, making-making pancakes…" Bill hummed blissfully unaware or unconcerned by the two generations of Evans mocking him.

"Should be ready in a minute, loves," he said over his shoulder. It was and, like Harry's breakfasts, it was wonderful. Petunia didn't even bother to stop Camellia from enjoying some of the bacon although she did draw the line when Camellia reached for seconds. The young girl withdrew her hand blushing. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, she consoled herself. All three sat around the table, Bill with a newspaper in each hand while the mother and daughter ate.

"Sorry, Mum," Camellia said referring to her past bacon related transgression.

"It's fine, dear. You're… a growing girl."

"Bollocks."

"Bill!" Petunia said sharply.

"Eh?" Bill looked up with wide eyes and blinked before he realized an apology was expected of him. "Oh sorry, it's just… Aye, Petunia you didn't talk to anyone at St Mungo's about what happened with Harry, did you?" She shook her head. Bill held out a newspaper for Petunia to take. "You'd best have a look then."

Half a moment later and Petunia was swearing as freely as Bill. " _Gods_ ," she moaned putting the paper down. Always curious, Camellia pulled the paper towards her and read.

 **BOY WHO LIVED ATTACKED BY INFAMOUS WEREWOLF GREYBACK**

 _By Rita Skeeter_

Sources in the Department for Magical Law Enforcement's Patrol Unit, speaking anonymously with _The Daily Prophet's_ Rita Skeeter, revealed that Harry Potter was attacked by the infamous werewolf, Fenrir Greyback. The full details of the attack have yet to be disclosed but the source confirmed that Fenrir Greyback was killed by Mr Potter and that Mr Potter's Muggle aunt attacked Greyback with a "car" (a mechanical carriage made by Muggles). Mr Potter has been admitted to Saint Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies for extreme magical exhaustion and his condition is unknown.

"Looks like The Prophet's the only one reporting it." Bill was thumbing through his other newspapers.

"Oh that's wonderful," Petunia said in her most disgustingly sweet voice. "Just one set of busy bodies who'll park themselves outside my house. We're so lucky here in the Dursley household." For reasons known only to him this made Bill smile. Underneath the table he ran his foot over Petunia's calf.

"Gives us a smile, love." She rolled her eyes. It was close enough.

"Did a girl my age write this?" Camellia asked. "And what sort of paper doesn't include the date?"

"The Prophet's rubbish," Bill explained. "Makes you cry sometime seeing what they do to English. And journalism. And common sense. And just about everything else, if I'm honest. Da' hates it, never heard him say a nice thing about any of its editors and Arthur Weasley could probably find something nice to say about a Goyle if pressed."

"Our address isn't on here, Mum." It was small comfort. "Does this sort of thing happen often, Bill?" Camellia asked the wizard.

"The Prophet putting out someone's name without even trying to contact them first?" Bill pretended to think. "Oh, I'd say only three or four times a day. Keep reading and you'll see how much worse they get." Camellia did and regretted it. _The Prophet_ was sensationalist in ways a paper of record had no right to be. One article about a Romanian wizard the DMLE had released made it plain as day the writer thought the man guilty and that he resented having to bother with trials at all. Another piece talked about a young chaser for a thing called quidditch and how she'd been spotted with an older man. There were a lot of unattributed quotes in it, all seeming to suggest the older man may possibly be the owner of a rival team and that the chaser was sleeping with him to secure a spot. It was all so absurd Camellia had to put the paper down. She felt a bit sick. Magic was a little less wonderous to her now.

"Don't pout, love," said Bill in his sweet voice. "Here's a thing to make you smile. It's called _The Quibbler._ Run by a pair of my neighbors. Lovely people. Husband and wife. A bit mad but the good sort. Never once thought about working for You-Know-Who in the last war. Most of the information is nonsense, mind you. Whole lot about monsters that don't exist, but all so much fun. Pandora, the wife, is a spellmaker and puts all her research out there. Complicated stuff, goes over even my head sometimes. You'll love it."

So she did. The stories were so outlandish even a muggle like Camellia could see they came from the fevered mind of some madman in a cottage. Creatures that only revealed themselves if you sneezed while hoping on one foot or who could only be kept at bay with bottlecaps arranged in a circle around ones neck. All very silly and foolish and very much to the delight of the small girl. The symbols in the later half of the magazine were confusing but in a mystical sort of way, as if she were peering into an old grimoire (and rightly so! Pandora Lovegood's spellwork was the sort even the most pretentious of purebloods would faun over.)

There was little mirth in Petunia however. The woman ate her breakfast in silence her mind preoccupied by worry. (Bill knew enough of women to not disturb her, instead anticipating whatever whim she may have and seeing to it before she voiced it.) She resolved to speak with Figgs. The old woman must know the wizard who left the note that cold night years ago. If Petunia was to do his bidding he would need to reciprocate. Her life would not fall under the microscope of a tabloid newspaper or this Skeeter-cow.

Soon it was half past nine and the doorbell rang. Collins was outside as Shackelbolt said he would be. Bill saw to him, giving Petunia a few moments to compose herself.

"You don't look too well rested there, Rhys. Sneak into the bed of one of the other cadets?" This was the way the two joked. Always at the other's expense but never aiming at a thing that would truly anger the other.

"Ah! If only! Somehow it got out I was visiting _the_ Harry Potter and so I spent the night answering questions." Collins raised a hand to his forehead. "Then comes morning and in barges Scrimgeur with Mad-Eye Moody in tow. Had us all standing at attention while they ran their wands over the walls and beds. Dunno what they thought they were goin'ta find."

Bill nodded. "Aye, I saw the Prophet this morning too. How ya reckon they found out?"

"Well it had to be one of the patrollers. Figured he'd get his name in the paper or some other stupidity." Collins was usually a very good natured young man. It was only that he was without sleep and food and thus very irritable today. "Mrs Dursley ready?"

"Brushing the little one's hair." That was a lie. Petunia was still bracing herself for whatever would be waiting for them at the hospital and Camellia was exploiting her mother's state to snatch an extra sausage link. "Petunia, Camellia, loves," Bill called from the door. "Your chaperone has arrived. Best get a move on else he's liable to storm the kitchen for food."

Petunia materialized at Bill's side wearing her best smile. Her curls bounced slightly as she laughed. "Don't be so mean to your friend, Bill. Come in, Rhys. There's enough time for you to fill that stomach of yours before we go." Collins looked as if he might cry for joy. "Camellia, be a good girl and set a plate for Mr Collins. You remember him, don't you?"

The little girl nodded. "He's the wizard from last night. How do you do, Mr Collins?" Camellia went to curtsy but then remembered she wasn't wearing a skirt so instead she bowed. Both adults laughed. A bit embarrassed Camellia went about setting a plate for Collins while her mother poured him a coffee.

"I best be off," said Bill. All three sets of eyes turned to him. "Need to let Dumbledore know how this went." He bowed to all three. "Camellia, why don't you keep that copy of the Quibbler. I can always send Old Lovegood an owl asking for another copy. He's a good sport. The crazy ones always are. I reckon it's because they're working with a different set of axioms than the rest of us. Oi, listen to me ramble. Thank you for the food and company! Bill Weasley, yours today and tomorrow, Camellia and Petunia Dursley!"

"Camellia Dursley!" the little girl squeaked. "Yours today and tomorrow, Bill Weasley!"

Everyone found this very funny, the little girl included, so the Dursley household enjoyed even more belly filled laughter. Something in the back of Petunia's mind wanted to take the same oath but she forced it down. She liked Bill and wouldn't say no to many more nights and breakfasts with him but oaths shouldn't be taken over how much you enjoy someone's company. There were more material things to consider and cursebreaking sounded much too dangerous a job, which of course it was even to the best of wizards.

The eggs and sausages proved poor enemies for Collins. The Auror cadet devoured his plate in the time it took to set it. Camellia was left a little amazed that there was a man who could go at food faster than her father and Petunia hid a laugh. Collins was too much like Vernon at that age. Perhaps he was a Vernon who hadn't gone into business and had instead gone off to join Her Majesty's Navy like he'd dreamt of in his youth. (Vernon had confessed this dream one night when he was warm from the whisky and Petunia's company. It was a rare moment for Vernon where he was without the defenses of his affluence and privilege, so Petunia guarded it jealously. She doubted he even remembered.)

Eventually they came to the hospital. Shacklebolt was in the reception area waiting for them. Arthur Weasley was there too drinking heavily from a mug. Neither man had slept but neither looked bothered by it. It seemed to them no worse an inconvenience than waiting on line at the grocer's. "Dumbledore is outside Harry's room" was the first thing Shacklebolt said to Petunia. "It took some work but we convinced the hospital to hold off the press conference until after you and your daughter had a moment alone with Harry" was the second. Then he bowed his head first to Petunia and then to Arthur before placing a hand on Collins shoulder. A loud CRACK! And the two were gone, magicked off to somewhere else in wizarding England.

"He has to go speak with the editors of _The Daily Prophet_ ," explained Arthur. "And prepare a statement for the general press. You did him a huge favor arriving early. Ten minutes can mean a lot for a man in his line of work." The kind wizard yawned before taking notice of Camellia. "Why hello there, little one."

"Hello, sir," said Camellia. "I'm Camellia Dursley, Harry's cousin. I met your son-"

"No. no," insisted Arthur speaking over the girl but never losing his smile. "That was Rhys Collins but it's an honest mistake. The boy eats like a Weasley and has spent enough summers at The Burrow." Camellia was about to correct him when her mother cleared her throat. Confused but recognizing that tone all too well, Camellia hushed. "Aye, thank you, Mrs Dursley."

"Petunia," said Mrs Dursley before retracing her steps from the night before and making her way to Harry's room. Arthur watched her go before himself disappearing in a quick _pop_. He too had a great deal of work ahead of him and a son to lecture at the end of it all.

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Order of Merlin First Class, Grand Sorcerer, Chief Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confederacy of Warlocks, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was exactly what you're picturing now having read all that. He was long and thin and everything about him seemed magical. His long white beard harkened back to ancient stories of high fantasy and adventure; his moon shaped spectacles seemed crafted from some impossibly silvery metal; his blue eyes shone like lights in a dark forest, like will-o'-the-wisps, but not as capricious. (Well, truthfully that depended on who you asked. To Petunia will-o'-the-wisp was a very apt description.) When he saw Petunia and Camellia approach, the old wizard took a step forward and bowed. Camellia squealed.

"You're a wizard!" she shrieked.

"Got it in one! What a clever girl you have, Petunia." Dumbledore's voice was like the rest of him. Camellia wondered if he could call down lightning or blast the tops off of mountains. "Professor Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, at your service."

"Camellia Dursley, at yours!" Camellia once again began to feel as if she were in a story. So many emotions fought to assert themselves as the first to be given voice. She wanted to touch Dumbledore's robes, see if she could feel the magic of him as plain as she could see it. She wanted to hear about dark wizards and werewolves and dragons and magical artifacts too dangerous to be spoken about in public. She wanted to hear what sorts of things Harry would learn in this secret college known only to magical folk. Would Dumbledore take him as an apprentice? That seemed right, didn't it? No, he was a headmaster. That meant there were many professors and he the chief among them. They would all have a hand in teaching him but what? How to create something from nothing? How to command beasts and craft a familiar? Would Harry learn to teleport like Shackelbolt had? So many questions!

None of which were to be answered. Petunia had her own questions and they were of a much less whimsical nature. They had also been building for much longer. "Why has Arabella been spying on me?" Petunia felt she could be candid. Shackelbolt had managed to shoo away unwanted listeners so she reasoned Dumbledore could as well.

There was a little less brightness in Dumbledore's eyes. That did wonders to improve Petunia's mood. "Because I asked her to, though I imagine with how close her home is to yours she'd have found a way to keep tabs on young Mr Potter with or without my help. And because your sister and brother-in-law both died while in my service and so I wished to look after young Harry."

Petunia considered saying "Fat lot of good that did" but something in the old man's eyes caught her attention. Or maybe it was the many oddities that had been surrounding her life since Harry had been left on her doorstep. Instead she leaned in close and said though pursed lips "I know there's more."

"It would be a very boring world if there weren't," said Dumbledore with a smile. "But, as you've already seen I am very fallible, and I don't trust my charms enough for this sort of conversation in public. Another time. Besides, you have a nephew to speak to. The boy is very robust." There was that odd look again, Petunia noted. "More so than many witches and wizards I've known. He is awake, although very tired and sore. The Healers Kaepner are with him now. You spoke with them last night?" Petunia nodded. "They are wonderful witches. Good and honest."

"I saw." She had. Already Petunia was thinking of some pretense to visit them again. They might make good friends, the sort that wouldn't be cowed. "Do they-?"

"Work for me? No. Neither woman has much talent for subterfuge. I realize this will mean little to you but they are Hufflepuffs through and through. Not at all like Kinglsey, a consummate Slytherin and proudly so!" Dumbledore's smile waned a little and he turned his head to look down the way Petunia had come. "The Minister for Magic has called for a press conference at 11 o'clock." Petunia's head turned a very violent shade of red. It may have popped had the woman not been so used to keeping herself in check. "Olivia and I insisted all this be delayed for at least a day but Cornelius, the Minister, arrived in person with a small entourage. I believe he intends to award Harry an Order of Merlin."

"What's that?" asked Camellia. Being a child who read too many comics and watched too many cartoons, the conversation intrigued her greatly and she wanted to be a part of it in the worst way. "An Order of Merlin, I mean, sir."

"It's a bit like knighting… no, wizards don't have much to do with lords and ladies. Not in this era at least." Dumbledore tugged at the end of his beard. Camellia almost burst out in giggles at the sight. "An Order of Merlin is recognition the Ministry of Magic gives to exceptional witches and wizards for services rendered to Magical Britain."

If Petunia had rolled her eyes any harder they'd have looped around into the back of her head. "Come along, Camellia. I suppose you'll want to speak with him too." Petunia spoke directly to Dumbledore and entered the room without waiting for an answer. The possibility of learning what the old man's game was would have to make up for allowing even more strangeness into her life.

Harry was not alone in the room as Dumbledore had said. Both Kaepners and a young man trying much too hard to be nonchalant were standing over Harry's bed, examining charts, and relaying information to the small boy as if he understood exactly what they meant. Perhaps if he weren't so tired. No. Even then he'd need it all written out for him so he could go over it at a slower pace. There was simply too much. Harry was, after all, still a very small child however precocious.

Beside Harry, stacked neatly on the floor, were an assortment of flowers and gifts of all shapes and sizes. Some were wrapped in wonderfully intricate paper whose patterns shifted when you weren't looking. Other packages swapped designs with the gifts around them so that it was near impossible to keep track of which was which. Camellia found this all very delightful as did Harry although tired as he was there was little exuberance in his voice.

"Look at all these!" the small girl shrieked. Harry smiled at her. He forced himself to sit up causing all three healers to order him to lay still. Olivia held out her wand and Harry's bed contorted itself until it resembled a comfortable chair covered in white linens. "Oh, Harry, are these all yours?"

"That's what they tell me." Despite his aching body, Harry could still manage the energy to speak clearly. "They only stopped coming in a few minutes ago."

"We're holding the rest," said the elder Kaepner whose name was Agatha. "When I asked them to bring some in I only meant the flowers and some of the cards. The boy's still too weak to hold a glass, why would anyone think he needs to be buried in this rubbish."

"I can hold a glass," argued Harry.

"You dropped two this morning," countered Agatha.

"Yes, but I can hold one now. And that second one was wet." Camellia giggled. Harry turned his head towards her and smiled.

"It's not rubbish, Agatha," the lone male healer said. "Look, his cousin is here now. She can do the opening and they can both share in the excitement."

Excitement was the wrong word to use on the older witch. She threw her hands in the air in frustration. "He doesn't need excitement. Or cameras. Or ministers looking to pose for them. Or- or any of these other busy bodies. He needs rest! Do people have no sense?!" They did but not the sort Agatha was thinking of. Having spent years surrounded by those who traded in appearances and status Petunia saw the sense all too well. She kept it to herself however.

"It's great to see you again, Olivia. You too, Agatha." Petunia hugged each woman (well, placed her forearms over theirs at least) and pecked them on the cheek.

"Phoebus," offered the male healer despite not having been asked. "It's a pleasure to meet you, ma'am. Your nephew is a very brave boy. And-"

"Who's he?" Harry had spotted Dumbledore standing just in front of the door. Everyone in the room turned save Petunia and Camellia who had, of course, asked him to follow. They all seemed a bit shocked to see him standing, although why would they be, wondered Camellia. He had walked in with them, hadn't he? Perhaps the healers had just been too distracted by Harry to notice.

As she was the most composed at the moment, it fell on Petunia to answer. "This is Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He taught your mother, Harry." The two wizards held each other's gaze for a moment, neither really sure where to go from there. Mercifully, Petunia continued. "He'll be teaching you as well. After your eleventh birthday. Lily always said he was brilliant. The most skilled wizard in all the world, twice over." Petunia was talented at hiding the bitterness in her voice. At least among those who did not know her well. But both Harry and Dumbledore did and so as she spoke they looked at her. The former while not hostile was defiant in his glare and the latter just looked disappointed as if he'd hoped for something else. Petunia ignored them both. Lily was her sister, after all. The sister she'd shared a room with and would jump into puddles with and steal skirts on clothesline for. She felt owed her bitterness.

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Harry," said the old wizard. Then he turned to the healers in the room. "I believe Mr Potter and his family would like some time alone. Olivia, Agatha, you two could do with some rest." Agatha was about to protest when Olivia yawned loudly. This of course made Agatha yawn and soon even Phoebus looked like he could use a quick nap. "I'll stay on to answer any questions Mr Potter has about his enrollment at Hogwarts. And also, because I think he'll need a little help dealing with the gaggle of reporters that'll be flooding into this room in less than an hour."

Right he was. After promising to speak with Petunia again tomorrow at the same time the two Kaepners left the room. Phoebus stood around for a moment longer but eventually his courage left him at the thought of being in a room with both the minister and the press. Soon it was just the Dursleys, Harry, and Professor Dumbledore all exchanging looks waiting for the other to say something. Camellia, being a child in front of a stack of presents, moved first. Normally she'd have ripped apart the wrapping paper to get at what was underneath but it all looked so strange to her, she didn't dare tear so much as a corner.

When Harry moved to help his cousin, Petunia objected. "You heard the healers, Harry. You're supposed to be resting. Lay back and I'll read some of these letters to you."

"I would start with that silver and sapphire note with cuneiform along the corners." Petunia gave him a look that very bluntly asked why and the old wizard chuckled. "It's from the Lovegoods," he said as if that explained it all. Harry who did not know of _The Quibbler_ looked to his cousin for guidance. Camellia who had spent much of breakfast looking through Xenophilius Lovegood's mad ramblings quickly forgot the box she was unwrapping and snatched at the note. Lastly, Petunia who was starting to enjoy watching her daughter dart around like an overly exuberant bee, raised an eyebrow and reached for a different note.

She read it to herself as Camellia went into great detail about humpleback-something-or-other. (Harry seemed totally enthralled even knowing such things had to be total lunacy. Reading very many stories you knew were fantasy had a way of teaching you to appreciate the novelty of a thing.) It was in very terrible handwriting that looked as if whoever wrote it had difficulty holding a pen.

Dear Harry,

You don't know me but I knew your mum and dad.

It was me who pulled you from Godric Hollow's after

You-Know-Who killed them. I told myself we would

meet when you turned eleven and came to Hogwarts

for your first year. Thought I might even take you to

Diagon Alley. I'm a damn fool if you haven't guessed

and I won't be putting off things this important

again. Slide your finger along the spine of this card.

There are three unicorn hairs there. Weave them into

your hair and they'll share a bit of the unicorn's

grace with you. You won't be quick like them but grass

and leaves will let you by without fuss. Might be handy.

Rubeus Hagrid.

"From Hagrid, I take it? He was rather distraught when he read the papers. I had hoped to tell him myself but… One of many things that didn't go according to plan, I suppose."

"Keeps the world interesting." Petunia was grateful for the chance to throw the man's glibness back at him. Except he did not seem to think her joke at his expense. (Or at least he did not think having to be the butt of it all that disagreeable.) Indeed, Dumbledore laughed and seemed put at ease by the whole thing. "Care to share the joke?"

"There is something relieving about a near catastrophic failure, isn't there?" said Dumbledore his eyes twinkling like a lantern in a deep fog. Petunia not so discreetly wondered if he was insane. He wasn't of course and Petunia knew that. As is seen with paramedics and rescue workers, too much time around death gives people a warped perspective. Once they've realized it's all a game and that death only needs to win once, life's many stupidities (especially their own) become all the funnier. There was comfort in nihilism, or so Petunia reasoned after considering the mad wizard in front of her.

"I suppose." Petunia wished she could think of something punchier but there is little anyone can say to a man who laughs at his own misfortune. "Harry," she called to her nephew because he at least she understood (mostly), "take a look at this. It's from an old friend of your parents." Harry took the letter and read it in silence. Camellia too, having realized the gravity of the moment, stood in silence as her cousin read. Had Petunia glanced then at Dumbledore she would have noticed that queer look in his eyes again. Through his half-moon spectacles Dumbledore looked to divine something in Harry. Like a debugger looking at lines and lines of code for a fault or failure.

What felt like a long while passed before Harry put down Hagrid's letter. He did as the note asked (three wisps of silvery air fell into his hand) before turning to Camellia. "It's from someone named Hagrid. These are unicorn hairs." Had she not been in a hospital room Camellia would have screamed. Her whole body shook as she tried to control her excitement. "Come here," he said, still smiling. Nervous and still quaking, Camellia leaned in. Harry took a few strands of her hair and began weaving the strands of unicorn hairs into them. "The letter says they have some kind of magic," he explained as he worked. "Letter's not clear how but it says leaves and grass will part when you walk through them."

"Oh, Harry, thank you!"

"It looks wonderful, Camellia," said a Petunia who was unsure of what to make of the situation or how to respond. And because there was everything telling her magic would be something she'd need to become comfortable with, Petunia stood by and watched.

Dumbledore did not. He smiled and that twinkling in his eyes became something brighter, more substantive before he spoke. He had a low authoritative voice, the sort developed after decades of teaching. "It is rare for a unicorn's hair to catch on anything. They are creatures of near indescribable grace. Should you choose to study care for magical creatures, Harry, you will have the opportunity to study them first hand."

"Are these… valuable?" asked Camellia. She was clutching her hair now as if it were the most precious treasure in the room.

"Tremendously," said Dumbledore. He affected a mock gravity before continuing. "It is one of those much-needed goods that also happen to be exceedingly rare and thus the price can be reliably fixed at _high._ You are very lucky, Miss Dursley. A trinket like that is that to come by."

"Do you use them, sir?" Harry had a great many questions about magic but blurting them all seemed like bad form. Between he and Camellia at least one would need to seem in control.

"For the purpose Hagrid gave them to you? No, I do not. As your magical talents improve, Harry, you will discover different ways to create the same effect. You will likely even find it unnecessary. Magic offers as many modes of travel as there are grains of sand and there are very few magics denied to wizards."

Harry considered the Dumbledore's words before articulating his next question. "What about the werewolf from last night? Greyback?" This time Petunia caught the look Dumbledore was giving Harry. "He must have been following Aunt Petunia and me but I- I didn't even realize he was there. Was it magic?"

"And what reason do you have to think Greyback was relying on magic for the feat?"

It would be Camellia who answered. Still clutching the strands of unicorn hair entwined with her own the small girl chirped. "Harry and I have been practicing. We've know he could do stuff for ages and now so he and I would go and- y'know, train when we could."

"What sort of training?" asked Dumbledore.

Again, it was Camellia who answered. "Small stuff really. See if Harry could move stuff with his mind. Know where things and people are without looking." She glanced at her mother who wore a totally neutral expression. "But we also did some branching out. See, I read a lot and so does Harry so we found lots of old stories and comic books and used them to create experiments."

"And what did you two discover?"

Here would have been a good time for Petunia to step in. But she too was interested in the full details of what her daughter was up to, so she allowed Dumbledore's questioning.

"Lots!" Camellia never needed much prompting, the poor girl. "Harry can do this sort of slow falling thing so long as he has a wall to lean his hand up against. He can feel where there's water even if he can't hear or see it. He can command snakes- we had a pair of them making swirls for us at the zoo, it was amazing!" Judging from Dumbledore's now very wide eyes, he thought so too. Petunia, who was only superficially familiar with the wizarding world, did not catch what had pierced the man's cool exterior. She was grateful to see it but no less worried about the situation. Or the press conference she'd have to fake a smile for. "The zoo keeper had no idea what was going on!"

"You shouldn't play mean pranks on others," said Petunia because that's what mothers should say when their children are misbehaving and there was a school teacher within earshot. "How would you like it if someone tried to make you look like a fool?"

"Sorry, mum," said Camellia. She still did not know what to make of her mother's new attitude nor how long it would last. Harry on the other hand said nothing, choosing instead to lean back against his pillow. "We won't do it again."

"That's a good girl."

"What other experiments have you performed?" There was a much more insistent tone in Dumbledore's voice now. "Have you… tried to command people or peer into their minds?"

"No and yes," answered Harry. His eyes were half closed but his voice sounded no weaker. "We tried seeing if I could read Camellia thoughts but it gave a terrible headache each time so we gave up."

"How severe?" Petunia again. She sounded genuinely concerned.

"Horrid. I'd be disoriented for hours afterwards. Colors were too bright, noises too loud, and the smell of everything would make me nauseous."

Just as several queer moments with Harry over the past year began to make sense for Petunia, something clicked behind Dumbledore's eyes and the twinkle went out. In that moment he didn't look mystical to Petunia. Just worn. "Magic is a wonderous thing, Harry," said Dumbledore and the act of speaking seemed to bring some of himself back from wherever it went. "and also, very dangerous. I would ask you to suspend your experimentation but you and your cousin seem exceptionally strong willed and so I'll only ask that you be careful and informed. There are many books on the theory of magic I'm certain you and Miss Dursley can decipher with a little patience. And if that fails you, Miss Arabella Figgs was born to a wizarding family. She herself is not magical, but she has spent her whole life in the magical world."

"Oh that's wonderful, isn't it, Harry?" Harry smiled at Camellia and would have answered her in the affirmative had not a sudden knocking on their door interrupted him. All heads turned to it each wondering something different.

* * *

 _Thank you for reading. Criticism is always welcome._


End file.
